Servant & Master
by Eitak Renmus
Summary: The man was found deep in the underbelly of the Kingdom of Naples. Rumors of cannibalism and gruesome massacres surround him. He doesn't know these very rumors are making him the object of a disturbed mans perverted desire... Rated for later Chapters.
1. Cannibal

Voldo

The creature was found in a fetid alleyway, huddled against the night cold grime of the lowest levels of foundation and class, hunched so that the prominent knobs of his bare spine were pushed close to the surface of his thin pallid skin. He sat in a nest of rags that could not be easily discernable from their surroundings due to the filth that covered all of them. Scattered amongst these tatters that melded to their human host were remnants of the creatures meals, small bones sticking up from the mess like pale splinters and larger more appalling bones that looked revoltingly human. Asides from this hunched form the alley was empty; not even rats scuttled in the slightly illuminated darkness, as though they had recognized the small bones of their fellows and made to keep clear. Humans did not usually tread this area of Naples unless they had no other choice. Rumors of fallen comrades and cannibals were enough to give the creature that dwelt in this lowest level some measure of insanity inducing solitude.

But it was also because of the rumors that fools would sometimes seek him out, looking to prove themselves against this unnamable dread. None had ever managed to so much as separate the grime from his hide with their weapons before he'd cracked their skulls open against the cool cobblestones. This was always enough to send the foolhardy dead mans companions screaming into the night, for none of them were ever noble enough to try to avenge their fallen friend and so the creature was left alone to feast. A human provided him with enough sustenance to last for several weeks and as he had lost the memory of earning money and buying food, and indeed the ability to do so, he was not mentally capable of wasting good meat.

Some citizens, wealthy enough to live in this squalid area with a roof over their heads, would peer down into the murky darkness in which the creature lived and were therefore able to give some accounts and descriptions of him. A tall thin, man; disheveled and covered with layers of filth with clothing that hung off of him in strips and was tied to him more than it was worn. He was gaunt and could move, they surmised, like a phantom with seemingly no effort and not subject to gravity. They were always sure to shut and latch their windows securely at night when he was most active and although they shuddered when screams echoed from below, they were perversely excited to be able tell their friends about the latest victim of 'cannibal corridor' before any one else got the news.

In some ways, the cannibal man had earned himself a devote fan following amongst the people. Whenever conversation was hard to come by at pubs or even high-class dinner parties, eventually a new gruesome account of his escapades would reach their ears and give them something to gossip about for weeks. Some clamed he was doing society a service, as those foolish enough to seek him out were usually drunkards or troublemakers, and he was hailed, in a very hush-hush manner, as a degenerate do-gooder. These people believed that because they were well to do, the cannibal wouldn't dare throttle their brains across the grimy, low class, foundations although they were careful to avoid the area at all costs. Those who were confronted on a daily basis with the possibility of running into the beast of a man were less apt to heap praise upon him although they regarded him with disgusted awe. Most considered him a threat to society but through their own fear, could never be bothered with the prospect of actually doing something against this threat.

The man, for the most part, knew none of this. For as long as he could remember, he had lived in this small spider web of alleys, venturing out only at night and only if food and water became scarce outside his own network. He did not know that this had not always been the case, and that long ago he'd been a member of society, a deviant member, but still a recognizable human. His mind had deteriorated enough that he could not remember all of his past, only frightening fragments, enchanting and delicate as wisps of smoke. As he sought to grab hold of these memories and retain them, they danced elusively through his long spidery fingers and served only to frustrate, confuse and on occasion, terrify him. Because he was not often eager to feel these emotions, he spent less and less time trying to recall the memories and as such he forgot more and more of whom he was. Only one thing could be grasped by remembering and that was his name: Voldo.

But that no longer troubled him. He was what he was. Humans had no proper adjectives for him, save that he was stripped of sense; a streamlined animal version of his former self. Because he could not remember he could not care, or know how much he had declined. He spent his time surviving and fulfilling his primal instincts. Any human reduced to such basics would seem terrifying indeed.

He could understand that people who came across him were frightened of his appearance, could to an extent, understand the sounds they made and decipher the meanings behind them. He knew he was cannibal, he was abomination, damned, disgraceful. He was hero and villain alike. He was Voldo and no one knew that but him.

The usual bi-weekly happenings of cannibal corridor ignited such interest and speculation that he was soon known throughout most of the Kingdom of Naples and was a celebrity of Calabria Ultra, his hometown on the southernmost tip of Italy. It was perhaps no surprise then that Vercci, Merchant of Death, took an interest in the gruesome, and seemingly impossible stories that emerged from the seaport town as he often took interest in and caused gruesome scenes himself. His underlings could often be heard gossiping amongst themselves about the latest man or woman to disappear, and the spine tingling sounds that could be heard from Cannibal Corridor and at first he was quick to dismiss such a thing as rumor. But as a rumor, it was becoming staggeringly persistent and even a man with as razor sharp a mind as his could not deny that there must be some grain of truth behind them. The more he heard, the more interested he became until he began to order his soldiers to find out more, find out facts, locations, names and to report back to him. His greed usually began with an all-consuming interest such as possessed him now, and he began to build a picture of the hideous beast man of rumor in his mind, and to obsess over it.

Vercci was a man feared by all, known for his fierce drive to acquire anything of value, to posses and own all that he felt 'owed' to him by society. He was of medium height, refined in manner and appearance, in his late thirties, with dignified wisps of gray streaking his otherwise jet black hair and pointed tuft of beard. His eyes were black, sharp, and penetrating as daggers and most would not look at him directly when speaking to him or being addressed.

He had obtained his moniker, Merchant of Death, because he was first and foremost a weapons dealer, providing the Kingdom of Naples with instruments ranging from rapiers, broad swords, and guns to instruments of torture too gruesome to name. Vercci was careful never to take sides in any battle and supplied only those who could afford his steep prices. It was behind this somewhat legitimate front that Vercci truly became the Merchant of Death. He dealt in slaves, transporting them from Africa, the Middle East and remote cultures isolated on even more remote islands. Thirty percent of these captives died while on route to Italy to be sold and those that received a master were hardly better off. The situations they would be sold into were varying; some taking care of household duties, some working fields and the unluckiest of all were sold as sex slaves.

Vercci did not mind the suffering he inflicted on these people who had been violently uprooted from their homes and torn from families. Some deep part of him actually reveled in their cries and longed to hear them, sometimes in the dead of night. Vercci's own servants were often slaves he'd imported himself; slaves whose anguish had touched that deep place in him, and made him happy. Besides those in obvious emotional distress, he busied himself with finding those of fierce spirits, those who refused to be cowed. Some took longer than others, but there was not a slave who's wills he couldn't bend to his own. Breaking them was great entertainment and he employed many painful and humiliating methods to do so.

As the rumors surrounding this beast man, the cannibal, persisted and grew in proportion, Vercci knew he had to have him; he had to test his will against this creature and break him as he'd done to so many others. If he could be cowed, he may make an incredible asset to his staff. He imagined meeting those who were indebted to him with a man rumored to eat other men at his side, waiting to tear open their throats like an obedient dog. If others knew he was capable of taming the famed cannibal, his reputation in the gritty underworld would soar. He would not send his underlings directly to capture the monster. If the rumors were true, the beast may find his lack of initiative insulting. And Vercci had never been known to share that which caused him pleasure.


	2. Into the Corridor

Eight days had passed since the last screams had been heard from Cannibal Corridor and while the cannibal himself felt no urge to kill, his fan base was growing restless. Those who took it upon themselves to report the murders found that when interest in the beast man waned, so too did interest in themselves so they waited eagerly by their windows before retiring to their beds both dreading and hoping for the sounds that would guarantee their popularity.

But no squelching shrieks would meet their ears tonight, as the gaunt man was on a less threatening quest to find water that would not make him empty the contents of his stomach or become delirious with fever. He had learned, by dangerous games of trial and error, which types of water were to be avoided and which were drinkable. The closest bodies of water were the harbor bays linking out to the deep, clear Mediterranean but for all of its tantalizing beauty, the water itself was incredibly salty and would soon send the drinker into hallucinogen filled fits before succumbing to a painful death.

Voldo had tasted this water only once before spitting it hastily out in a spray and edging cautiously away from the dry rotted decks.

Water lying in still, glistening pools along the cobbled streets or in gutters was to be avoided completely. One whiff of these sources was enough to suggest that water was not all they consisted of.

But Voldo did not go thirsty, just as he did not go hungry. His methods were unconventional but ensured his survival. Walking with his bare back hunched in a predatory and wary fashion, Voldo crept silently from his nest of rags and filth, peering about the intersection of the intimidating corridors through his lank hair.

An outsider viewing this ritual would find it perplexing, as Voldo proceeded with the caution of a cat in a room full of starving dogs. What did this man, who brutally killed and devoured other men, have to fear from humanity?

Voldo did not know the answer to this question nor did he know the cause of his discomfort when venturing out from his network. Although he did indeed feed on his fellow man he was anxious to avoid them when he could. Their natures were complex, sporadic and unpredictable. Men came to him with the intention to kill, to hunt him as they would a buck with a magnificent rack. Voldo killed to survive and in that, he was far less threatening than those who sought him out.

Adhering close to inky shadows with the agility of a wraith, Voldo wound his way through the bowels of Calabria Ultra until the thick, claustrophobia inducing walls of the city gave way to sparsely populated farms. He avoided these seemingly inviting structures, with their warm glowing lights that suggested human life. To him they resembled the luminescent eyes of a predator. He veered left to the dark jagged outline of a massive outcropping of stone and fragile, bonelike structures of wooden supports.

The limestone quarry lay on the outskirts of the southern tip of the city, a ten-minute walk, and it was here that Voldo had found a reliable source of water.

Now noticeably more at ease, Voldo climbed easily over the huge blocks of stone awaiting transport to a massive cathedral or similar structure in far off lands. Dim moonlight illuminated the mine and in it, it resembled a strange graveyard, perhaps of the gods the humans believed in, or of some strange beasts. Roughly hewn chunks of limestone, easily twice Voldo's height and hundreds of times his weight lay upon each other in a descending spiral formation into the deep cave that had been gouged out of the earth and steadily out of the thin moonlight.

Voldo descended the makeshift staircase of stone and wood supports, sinewy limbs bending and long digits searching for footholds in a grotesque parody of a spider. In a matter of minutes he'd found a small cave that had been unearthed, and from it, a wide lip of stone protruded making a basin in the block wall. In this natural filter, rainwater seeped through hundreds of feet of stone leaving it nearly pure by the time it reached one of these many outcroppings or overhangs. If Voldo could reach it before the mosquitoes, he was promised a relatively safe and calcium enriched drink.

Voldo made this small trek every few days and with him he would bring several containers he had fished out of refuse or had stitched together with various pieces of skin to fill.

He dipped his head into the small pool of clean water and drank his fill, not understanding that the filth on his skin was dirtying the water as he did so and therefore not bothered by it. His thirst quenched, he shook his head, sending beads of fouled moisture onto the surrounding limestone, where it was readily reabsorbed. He then reached to his side, where two containers, one of wood and one of human skin, were strapped to him with fraying threads of his remaining clothing.

Far off in the distance a dog yelped and Voldo froze, halfway through filling the wooden container, listening hard. It had been an eerie sound and Voldo did not like the feel of it. He turned his eyes to the moon and hissed at its light. He was painfully obvious; a pale organic form against mountains of geometric blocks. If anything were interested in hunting him, he would be prone target, especially for an arrow.

After a considerable amount of time, Voldo allowed himself to make one small movement before freezing again. Nothing stirred on the nearby rocks and there was no sharp sound of an arrow parting the air to meet his skin, yet he could not shake the queer sense of unease that the dog's yip had imbedded in him and he moved cautiously and deliberately as he filled his containers with the muddied water.

Once that task was done he quickly scaled the mine, twisting himself about in the wooden frame and rough rock, with dexterity enough to make him the envy of any miner, were they able to see him, and if he had not been mad.

In the eight days since the last report of murder, Vercci's servants and personal soldiers had managed to find only snippets of truth in their quest to locate and verify rumors of the cannibal man. Many peasants they spoke too refused to tell of the man, afraid that they may justify his gruesome wrath upon themselves if they were to reveal him. Some were too drunk to be reliable and their directions sent the hapless underlings in every direction but the right one. Those who lived near the area were reluctant to give anything away, lest their celebrity and claim to fame be taken from them.

Success was found in the citizens of the wealthy upper class, who were eager to further their standing and seem more important than they knew they were. They had been raised in an environment of gossip and saw nothing wrong with giving away information of the events that they knew nearly nothing of and would never have been able to speak about had they witnessed them. Gossiping to a rich mans servants was generally considered a good idea and was sure to impress their neighbors.

Vercci's personal bodyguard, Cephas, was able to obtain information from a man, who quietly wished it to be known that he did not usually frequent such seedy areas, that the rumors originated in the southern tip of Calabria Ultra and that in a local tavern they would surely be able to find out more on their cannibal.

As ordered, Cephas sent several servants of lower standing to this area to question the locals. Through rigorous questioning, several quietly confirmed that the man seemed to be rooted to the small seaport town and Cephas, in turn, reported directly to his master, calling off the search as Vercci wished to acquire his new specimen personally.

Vercci was delighted to hear that the hunt for the cannibal had been narrowed down to only a few tatty streets and he had his servants ready his horse at once. Shivers of excitement wound up his spine, causing a wide grin to split his dignified face, as he made ready to leave. His servants were quick to avoid him when expressions such as these appeared as they usually projected Vercci's intentions to cause pain. They bowed themselves away as politely as they could without breaking into a full run.

Digging his heels into his stallion with more exuberance than was needed, Vercci yelled out in predatory anticipation as the horse reared and lent its own chilling winy of fear to the racket. With a crunching stomp and clatter of hooves against stone, the horse leapt forward and galloped down the moonlit lane that led to the distant city.

Vercci made short work of the ride, never letting his mount stop to drink or catch it's breath and as such, ropey tendrils of saliva flew from the horses mouth as the massive lungs heaved to support its aching muscles. Vercci himself was in high spirits and did not particularly care what happened to his transportation, so longs as it got him to Calabria Ultra. If the stallion died or became lame from his overuse, he would simply buy another.

As farmland thickened into dark, narrow structures full of dim hazy lights, Vercci allowed the tiring beast to slow to a trot as he looked for the bar that was the landmark of the cannibal's territory. He was preoccupied enough with this task that he did not notice the stray dog that darted out in front of the stumbling horse. A soft thump, followed quickly by a piercing yelp jostled Vercci out of his investigations as a hoof heavy with weariness came down. The dog squirmed under the blundering horse and Vercci pulled tight at the reigns to keep the creature from toppling over. The stray limped down an alley and out of sight, whining pathetically, its tail tucked tightly between its legs. Vercci cursed loudly at it.

Shaking his head and now annoyed at having his concentration so thoroughly disrupted, Vercci squinted hard at his surroundings. He had come to a weather worn dock, whitened by volleys of salty surf and hot bleaching sun. A gentle sloshing toned benignly from beneath the wood as waves washed senselessly about the supporting beams. Vercci's previous aggravation with the stray dog was lulled away by the soothing rhythm and he was able once more to focus on his undertaking.

Across from the deck and near the rim of the crescent shaped bay, stood a shabby, haze enshrouded building, made visible by three flickering lamps. Its sign was smudged with grime so that he could not read what the exterior represented, but judging from the loud guffaws and sounds of merriment coming from within, Vercci took this to be the bar he was searching for.

He dismounted gracefully, took the stallions reigns and walked onwards, tethering the exhausted beast to one of the many hitching posts. Vercci was surprised the bar even utilized the posts, as very few in this area were rich enough to own a horse.

They were, however, rich enough to guzzle down prodigious amounts of alcohol, and were thusly able to escape the reality of their retched lives until the weary and headache plagued morning greeted them. Vercci strode through the creaking doors, head held proudly aloft, and already eyeing each of the occupants calculatingly. He needed a guide. He would not risk wondering the streets aimlessly, and possibly missing the cannibal, or, in a less likely event, becoming the mans prey.

At once the booming sounds of the commoners dimmed to a few hushed whispers and one or two shouts of those too drunk to realize the volumes of their voices. Vercci was eyed with simultaneous dislike, interest, fear, suspicion and lust; several prostitutes took one look at his obviously expensive clothing and made moves to intercept him in his path to the back of the bar, thick, heavily layered eyelashes batting suggestively.

Vercci smiled wolfishly at the women, but waved them away rather impatiently causing their hopeful faces to fall into overacted pouts before succumbing to bouts of drink-fueled laughter. He made a mental note reminding himself to visit this location another time, when he could enjoy more lucrative time amongst the locals. But unless one of the prostitutes wished to lead him to the cannibal he had no use for them.

Vercci seated himself at a table with three other men, all of who were in their late teens or early twenties. One of them, who obviously had not become befuddled by drink, gave him a nervous glance and became noticeable uncomfortable by the presence of the well-dressed and dignified older man. The other three were too far-gone to care.

Vercci smiled at them, somehow managing to show nearly all of his teeth, and ordered a round for all of them. This earned him a jovial slap on the back by the man nearest to him but the more watchful man seemed become more suspicious by this act.

"What's your name, stranger?" He asked cautiously. Vercci turned to him, unable to help his excitement fueled grin.

"I, young sir," he began lavishly, "am your ticket out of this slum." The other mans brow pursed and his fellows guffawed loudly at this proclamation.

"Hear that? Myron's got himself a believer!" One of them spouted, and clinked his heavy glass against another in a meaningless toast. The one named Myron quickly avoided Vercci's shining eyes, looking nervously about the bar and brushing his mousy brown hair away from his temple.

"I don't know what you mean…I'm sure that I don't know you, so forgive me but you must be mistaking me for someone else."

"No, I know you…I know what you want. I can see instantly that you're not meant for a place like this. You desire something grander, something more fulfilling out of life, do you not?"

"That could be said of anyone in this bar." Myron countered, but he was listening more intently and met Vercci's eyes.

"Indeed, I imagine it could. But you, sir, caught my eye. You possess a certain _aura_ if you will. You are quiet; suspicious…you are more intelligent than many of the buffoons around us due, no doubt, to the lack of liquor pickling your mind. You have a quiet determination…you have _potential_." Vercci trailed off as the bartender delivered their mugs, and he was praised with incoherent shouts from the other men at the table.

Myron regarded him with a type of eager confusion, now fully drawn into the conversation.

"What is it you want?" He asked, mistrust still edging his light voice.

"I am a sightseer, interested in areas of unique occurrences. I would like a guide to lead me through these many streets. I hear there is a man, who is rumored to, if you will believe, _eat_ other men. I wish to verify this rumor for my superiors."

At once, Myron's spine stiffened and he regarded Vercci with dubious awe. "You want a guide to Cannibal Corridor?" He asked incredulously.

"Cannibal Corridor is it? It sounds as though it does exist then."

"Sorry. You'll have more luck with someone who's drunk. No one with a head on their shoulders would walk that area, especially at night." Myron stood to leave.

"With a drunk, I may well be wondering about till the break of dawn. Will you not take pity on a hapless outlander?" Vercci stood and moved closer to the young man, and whispered, almost seductively in his hear. "I can make it worth your while." He shoved a bulging leather purse into the mans pocket and Myron stared at him in disbelief. "There is more where that came from, young sir. I'm asking you to do this for me, as I believe that you are the only one in this bar, if not this town, who would not waste this small fortune on drinks and pleasurable company. You have potential…I can get you started on what ever path you may choose."

Myron swallowed deeply, obviously torn between the possible realization of his future and his deep fear of the man who lurked in the dark and lived like a beast. He gave Vercci a furtive look, mouth tight, and nodded.

"Follow me. I'll lead you to the Corridor, but I'll not enter." The young man squared his shoulders and strode purposefully out of the bar, leaving his fellows to their antics. They may not even notice his absence, but he had no plans to return once he received the rest of what the man meant to give.

Myron then realized that he'd not even learned his benefactor's name. "Sir, you've not given me your name."

"My name is of little importance, but as you wish. It is Vercci." As he'd expected, the man simply nodded and continued down a winding cobblestone alley, showing no knowledge of his reputation. If he'd introduced himself to an educated person of higher standing, he would have either been avoided like the plague, or asked whether or not he had a fresh shipment of slaves ready for trade.

The deeper they wove themselves through the network of narrow alleys, the shabbier their surroundings became and the more repulsive the smell. Myron turned suddenly, placing an arm out to halt Vercci's progress, and brought a finger to his lips. He poked his head around a grime-covered block of foundation and peered down the next alley. Slowly he motioned Vercci to his side and whispered, "This is Cannibal Corridor. The beast is usually out at night…unless you wish to actually run into him, I suggest we leave."

Vercci nodded but made no move away from the corner, his eyes bright with interest and desire, something that troubled his guide. His excitement constrained his chest and he could feel his heart hammering beneath his ribs. So this was the beast's lair. It was filthy, inhospitable and inhabitable to his eyes. How the creature survived was beyond his ability to understand and he'd tested many humans to their limits himself. The lair better than he could have imagined. He nearly moaned with glee when he spied the gruesome grin a human skull lying still amongst the refuse.

"Sir…" Myron pleaded quietly, panic seeping into his voice. Vercci shushed him and remained as still as stone, quivering only slightly with anticipation, as a cat before the pounce. Then he heard it, distant at first but gradually more audible; the soft scraping of feather light foot falls, and the gentle babble of contained water.


	3. Devour

Vercci saw the inhumanely long shadow of the cannibal first, projected onto the sides of the Corridor, twitching and distorting unsettlingly in the lamplight that backlit the beast. The unreal quality of this predecessor caused Vercci to grip the sides of the block of foundation he was hiding behind tightly with anxious desire. Gradually the shadow shortened to a more human size and the footfalls became more audible although they were still fleetingly light against the stone.

Vercci registered in some deep part of his mind, one of the few areas that was not wholly devoted to his present observation, that Myron was retreating behind him, one terrified step at a time. Vercci spared one second to glance at the youth; his eyes were wide, every vein in his throat tight with fear and he was groping blindly behind him for some grounding structure he could lean against and perhaps gain strength from before beginning his fear fueled run away from the cannibal and back to the welcoming lights of the distant bar.

Vercci whipped an arm out, clutched the young man by the shirt collar and with prodigious strength, flung him into the very heart of the cannibal's filthy nest. Myron was so startled by this action that he could not help himself from crying out in surprise as he went stumbling face first into the pile of rags and bones.

Immediately the ethereal shadow of the cannibal halted, froze and then _moved_. Vercci had never seen anything move like that, and almost before he could react the cannibal man was in the corridor, bunching himself to the ground in one fluid stroke before springing into Myron, a supple mass of muscle and sinew, a low hissing growl escaping the mans throat. Vercci allowed himself to be awed and watched hungrily as the cannibal grabbed Myron by the face, long fingers splitting the skin and digging in deeply.

The young man had time for one piercing shriek before the cannibal had wrenched his own body to the side and back with such force that Myron's face was taken with him in a spray of crimson. After the twitching body slumped to the floor a strange stillness seeped into the atmosphere, the calm before the storm.

The cannibal squatted low on his haunches and sniffed at the mass of bleeding flesh caught tight between his fists that had, mere seconds ago, been a recognizable face. He toyed with it in an interested manner; unfurling the lump of flesh that had been the nose, before letting it flop flaccidly back into the mess. Then his curiosity waned and the tossed the face onto the cobblestones where it struck with a sickening smack.

He hovered over the rest of the body, the bits of humans he knew much more intimately than their faces and ran his fingers down the collarbone and pectoral muscles, to the light dimpled raises of the ribs. Here, he dug in; his hand in the shape of a spade and separated the skin from the muscle with dexterous ease, allowing the cooling blood to pool beneath him and not in the least troubled by it. While one hand peeled the skin off in glistening, elastic strips, the other set to work digging out the muscle and piling it on the nearest rag. As the cannibal labored, he lifted a strip of steaming meat to his mouth and ate it greedily. Vercci had never been so enthralled with anything in his life. It was time to make this beast his.

Vercci stepped boldly from his shadow enshrouded hiding place, some ten feet directly before the cannibal. The mans blood drenched face swung to him immediately, causing deep red flecks to dot the ground, but he did not charge as recklessly as he had Myron. No, he crouched low to the ground, ready to spring in an instant, but hesitated. The human was not raving, shouting, rushing or defiling his nest…it was standing, with no obvious weapon and staring at him. Voldo could sense no fear from this man, nor loathing and that, more than anything was what held him back. Voldo studied the man intently and all at once growled low in his throat, causing the blood already accumulated around his lips to run, as though he had sensed something in the human that he did not like. Something he found more threatening than jeers, or swords. He did not know what it was but the man unnerved him.

Voldo rose to his full height, not bothering to keep his back hunched as was his custom and habit, so that he stood a few inches taller than the intruder. He growled menacingly while moving steadily forward, showing that he was obviously the stronger of the two and was not going to abandon his territory or fresh kill.

This seemed to have the opposite effect on the intruder, who smiled broadly, a manic gleam in his eye. The intruder moved his arm slightly to his hip and Voldo leapt at him, swinging his long arm about in an arc and catching the man in the temple. The intruder went down heavily and Voldo was on him in a moment, straddling his chest, both arms now raised in preparation to rip the bare throat out.

Immediately, and from behind, a white-hot pain erupted in the small of Voldo's back. He let out a dry screech and twisted about both to see what had caused him this pain and to evade it but saw nothing but Vercci's knee, which was covered in his blood. He vaulted off of Vercci's chest, moving into another attack position, but Vercci had used the cannibal's brief interlude of pain to draw his long sword.

Voldo became frenzied as soon as the cold, gleaming metal caught his eye. In a mad rush he flew at Vercci, and while flowing into a sliding kick, felt himself falter; the wound on his back was affecting his left leg. Rage and confusing at his limbs sudden uselessness tore at him and he compensated by lashing out with his left arm, still using the momentum he'd manage to gather.

But Vercci was ready for this, had known that the wound he'd given the beast would render it impossible for him to use his full agility and sidestepped easily. Grinning demonically and even chuckling in a crazed staccato, he plowed the hilt of his sword into the back of the cannibal's skull and Voldo stumbled twice before loosing consciousness.

Vercci exhaled between his bared teeth in a low whistle, his combination of adrenaline and excitement making his breath quick and ragged, but he enjoyed passionate outbursts such as these. His only regret was that the cannibal was no longer a threat to him, and he had no way to release the energy coursing through him. Still, he understood that he could not transport the man, or tend to his wounds while in such a state so he crouched near the sprawled cannibal and waited for himself to calm.

His head throbbed painfully where the cannibal had hit him and he would probably have a painful welt and colorful bruising by dawn, but he cared little. The man had been just as fierce as his rumors suggested and Vercci had delighted in watching him rip Myron's face off and then proceed to dissect him. When the cannibal had greedily devoured a strip of the young mans chest, Vercci had been hard pressed to keep from emitting the moan of pleasure the act had elicited from him.

Remembering something at the edge of his mind, Vercci turned his eyes from the cannibal's filthy hide to the ravaged corpse of the young man lying nearby. Standing jovially but wavering slightly from the blow to his head, Vercci crossed the short distance to the corpse and squatted above it. He smiled fiercely as he looked into the skinless visage, tendons and bone wrapped in velvety muscle now laid bare, the eyes impossibly wide and grotesquely large without the lids to enshroud them. He patted it on the shoulder and said,

"And now you are freed from the slums." It took prodigious amounts of his self-control to keep from laughing out loud in the dark alleyway. He began to rise, but quickly bent back down to the body as he remembered something else. Reaching into the dead mans pocket, he removed his money purse and tucked it safely back into his own clothes. He then fished through Myron's other pockets, removing only a few coins, but pocketing them all the same. He truly had no use such small amounts, but it was better to have too much than too little.

"You won't be needing these anymore, eh?" He asked the macabre, now permanently grinning head, jingling the coins about above the body. The grin was infectious and Vercci went now to the cannibal, feeling calmed enough to bind and treat the man before heading back to his mansion with his prize.

Vercci removed a great length of rope as he leaned over him, taking the wiry arms and tying them tightly about the wrists, doing the same to the ankles, and then binding the arms and ankles together. This arrangement would allow the cannibal to walk, but not run and would prevent him from kicking or punching. Vercci pulled loosely at the bindings, making sure they were not so tight as to cut off the cannibal's circulation.

He then knelt over the mans lower back, lifting the tattered gray shreds of shirt to reveal skin of nearly the exact same filth ridden color underneath. The wound he'd inflicted during their struggle was threadlike, but deep and bleeding steadily. Vercci realized he'd narrowly missed puncturing a major artery of the spine, which would have caused the cannibal to suffer instantaneous and fatal shock. He knew this to be true by his own cruel experiments on slaves.

He took out a salve he kept within his traveling purse, unscrewed the lid, and smeared some of the opaque paste into and around the wound. That should keep infection at bay. Removing a needle and rather thick thread, he stitched the gash closed with prodigious care, hoping the grime that adhered to the cannibals skin would not become trapped within his body.

Vercci leaned back on his haunches, surveying his work and nodding to himself. He was a very effective healer but only because he was also a very effective torturer, and to cause the most damage to his prey, the victim would have to stay alive long enough to sustain it. He'd once kept a woman alive for months, all the while cutting off non-vital parts of her body and stitching her up, simply to see how long she'd last. It had been an interesting experiment and he had learned some very useful things about the human body.

Getting to his feet, and gingerly rubbing his rapidly bruising temple, Vercci prepared to lift the unconscious cannibal to his feet and drag him back to his horse. He stopped short and removed the decorative and now bloodstained sash that wound about his knee. The sash concealed a small dagger that was strapped to his knee with a leather sheath. He made a mental note to have the blade cleaned once he returned home.

He took the sash and tied it about the cannibal's neck, keeping the long end in his hand and pulled.

The cannibal slumped towards him limply, dragging heavily against the cobblestones. Satisfied with his improvised leash, Vercci crouched, took the man about the middle and pulled him to a half standing state. He then pulled one long arm about his shoulders, so that the cannibal was hanging off of his right side, his feet bumping against the ground uselessly. Stumbling slightly under the extra weight, Vercci began the short walk back to the bar, grinning through the light perspiration dotting his face and happier than he could remember being.


	4. Fear and Fury

AN: Thanks very much for all of the kind reviews! This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but as it's spring break I could actually take the time to write. Please forgive me of any errors in time period. This is meant to take place around 1708. I can't remember when the game is meant to take place but as Italy is refered to as the Kingdom of Naples and Vercci is mentioned as supplying armaments to the invading Spaniards, I assume it was around this time. Voldo's brothers, who are said to have died in war, could have bitten it durring the The Spanish Succession. Blah, blah, I'll stop rambling now.

Voldo blearily awoke to find the world upside-down and moving at a remarkably fast pace, the dark, familiar shapes of his nest gone and replaced with the startlingly open farmland he had just recently passed on his way to retrieve fresh water. Had he had any inkling of what it meant to be insane, he would have assumed that he most certainly was for the earth did not move upside down unless he wished it to, and only then could it be accomplished by turning his head. The cannibal closed his eyes as parts of the reversed countryside swam in and out of focus making his stomach rise uncomfortably and thinking that when he re-opened them he would somehow be back in his alleyway.

As his nausea quickly increased so too did his understanding of his surroundings. He noted the ground was shaking horribly beneath him and sounds came rushing back as well. At once his senses and mind awoke fully from his semi-conscious state and he remembered with a start the strange human who had fought him, tried to take his territory and meat.

Voldo made to move and flip the world back to its proper state when he realized he could not twist his body; all of his limbs and even his torso were tied down with ruthless efficiency. More than a little confused, Voldo lifted his head as far as his bindings would allow and realized that it was not the earth that was shaking, but rather a large and sweat drenched stallion that he was bound to, as humans would strap down a parcel or sack of bread. This caused a bolt of panic to sweep through his immobile body. Voldo was very nearly terrified of horses and being trapped against one made his instinctual mind cry out in fear. He could recall no distinct event that gave rise to this fear. He simply did not like the massive beasts, their rolling eyes or the fact that they could easily outrun him. He did not even like the taste of their meat.

He thrashed furiously against the taut ropes crisscrossing his body but could no more free himself than he could remember how he had gotten into this situation. Another anger and fear fueled cry brought him the attention of the human he had not noticed through his panic. As the manic and dignified face turned it's gleaming eyes to his bound form, Voldo immediately recognized him as the one who'd intruded into his nest and caused the pain in his now throbbing back. He hissed in rage, thrashing so ferociously that the ropes cut into his sordid skin, causing raw red burns to erupt and bead with blood. The pain of these only heightened his struggle. His frenzied movements threw the galloping stallion off balance, the steady rhythm of it's hooves faltering and then slowing in an effort to keep itself from toppling over. The horse whinnied in frustration at its heavy and struggling load, tossing it's shaggy head and causing Voldo to become even more desperate in his attempts to escape so that his blossoming burn marks began to open and bleed freely. In a vicious cycle of cause and effect, the scent of blood further panicked the horse, which then further panicked Voldo.

His captor pulled the animals reigns and brought it to a complete stop, turning in his saddle with exasperation. His brow furrowed, Vercci glared down his captives prone and bloody form, the cannibal's chest heaving with effort, rage and panic. Unsure of what to say to calm a man whom he'd violently taken prisoner, or even what was causing such crazed fear, Vercci could do little but try to focus the mans attention on him.

He slowly moved his arm towards the man's bare, rapidly rising ribs, which were now shining with scarlet tendrils of blood. As he'd hoped, the cannibal's wide eyes immediately focused on this new threat and he stopped his thrashing in an attempt to concentrate his dwindling energy on the hand.

A curious thought struck Vercci and he wondered if the cannibal possessed the ability to understand language. Knowing that if he continued to thrash, he may well send the stallion off kilter and to the ground, possibly pining his own body in the process, Vercci decided it was worth trying to get the man to realize he was in no immediate danger.

"Calm down." He said slowly and clearly, staring the cannibal directly in his shadowed eyes. The cannibal's head turned from Vercci's hand to his face. Happy that he at least had his attention, Vercci tried again. "Calm down. I will not hurt you."

Deciding not to press the man's possibly limited vocabulary, Vercci did not bother to add 'unless you disobey my commands'. The cannibals chest continued to heave, his body continued to shake but he was no longer thrashing or expelling his dry, raw screams of panic.

"Do you understand me?"

Voldo stared at his captor in alarm. No human had spoken _to_ him before, at least not that he could remember. They yelled at him, yes, but actually speaking in tones such as these was reserved for their companions, their fellow humans. Voldo did not understand all that the man had said. He understood 'down' and 'not hurt' as those were things he often heard his prey scream before succumbing to his appetite, but applying these terms to his present situation was more than his mind could coherently process. But Voldo was not stupid and he understood that if the man wished to harm him, he easily could and Voldo would have no way of stopping him. The wound on his back, and his now aching skull reminded him that this man was powerful and not encumbered with fear as those he preyed upon were. He kept as still as his twitching muscles would allow and silent, his eyes fixed on his captors face.

Vercci gave him a look of annoyance and eventually conceded to the cannibal's silence. "I'll take that as a 'no'." He said in a disgruntled tone before turning back around in the saddle and giving the reigns a light shake. As the stallion trotted forward, and as Vercci had feared, the cannibal gave another rattling cry of panic. Squeezing his eyes shut as if for patience, Vercci eased his mount into a gallop. As the horse barreled forward, the cannibal began to twist about in his bindings once more. This continued for several minutes until Vercci's patience snapped. He pulled the horse to a stop, twisted about and smacked the cannibal hard in the face. "Silent!" he yelled, now utterly frustrated.

It had the same effect as smacking a young child, except for the rage. The beast mans yells only became louder although the panic had been instantly replaced with rage.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation that this had not cowed the beast into silence, but somewhat excited by it as well, Vercci pulled a strip of the mans clothing off and made to gag him with it but was brought short by the gnashing of bloodstained teeth. Vercci immediately raced his other hand to the bare chest and the cannibal's attention went with it. Vercci used that brief interlude of concentration to stuff the foul, waded up piece of cloth into the still gaping mouth. The cannibal choked and immediately tried to force the disgusting thing out but Vercci already had another strip on the way and tied this one tightly across his head and mouth, rendering it impossible to dispel the gag.

Satisfied, Vercci turned, and urged the stallion onwards yet again.

They had not gotten half a mile before Voldo's thrashing had again become so violent as to upset the stallion and send it heavily to the ground.

Nearly yelling in frustration at the cannibal's forthright obstinacy, Vercci pulled the reigns so fiercely that the horse stopped dead in its tracks from a gallop. This caused Vercci to slide up the beast's neck and his hat to fly from his head. Growling in indignation, he leapt from the saddle, cursing the cannibal, cursing the stallion, his hat, and the bruise on his head. He picked his hat up, dusted it rather violently off and walked around so that he was level with the gagged and grimy face of his cannibal.

"_Stop moving!_" He yelled. Vercci was usually rather patient, but his eagerness to get to his mansion and have full room to examine the incredibly stubborn creature before him was clouding his mind. Again he smacked Voldo in the face and in another cycle of cause and effect, the cannibal resumed thrashing and Vercci in turn became angrier. Gritting his teeth over the cannibal's muffled yells, Vercci tore off another strip of the man's clothing this time tying it about his eyes.

At once Voldo's thrashing deadened to a dull quiver and his gagged yells died down to a barely audible whimper. Vercci was vaguely impressed that this tactic worked and he leaned back, arms crossed. He knew that covering a wild beasts eyes would render it silent and lame, as though the blindfold had turned out the entire world for it. Voldo was now dead silent beneath his gag and Vercci looked at the man in a disturbed sense of wonder. The cannibal was truly wilder than he had imagined if something such as this would render him silent and pliable. A grin tugging about the corners of his mouth, Vercci remounted and kicked his stallion's sides.

As the beast gained speed, Vercci glanced over his shoulder at the cannibal. He no longer thrashed, although he was shaking violently. Satisfied that he could continue the ride back in peace, Vercci dug his spurs painfully into the horse's side causing it to whinny. Vercci reveled in the combined fear and fury of the beast and the cannibal, knowing that nothing  
could withstand him and basking in his self proclaimed superiority. But whereas the horse was already broken in mind and body, he had yet to test the cannibal to his full limits.

Dim yellow lights appeared faintly on the lightening horizon, shining through the thin veiling mist of the night and signifying the approach of a cold dawn. Barely discernable from the deep blue-gray sky was the impressive shape of a large, Romanesque mansion that housed the flickering lamplight. No orders had been given to expel the lamps and the servants were much too cowed to dare go against their master's orders and save fuel. Their minds understood the waste but Vercci…why not waste when you could afford to replace?

As it was, they waited, most on pins and needles for Vercci's imminent return. Some took this opportunity to relax, but these were the ones who had not paid attention to Vercci's demeanor before he had left, had not noticed the way he had smiled or the way his dark eyes shown with obsession. Those that were unlucky enough to be near him before his departure knew that look and knew that Vercci's mind was in the state of dominance it only achieved when bringing in another luckless person to break. They understood that they could not afford to relax.

And then there were the rumors that some of Vercci's scouts had been quietly spreading throughout the mansion's staff during the long hours of the night; rumors of Vercci's quest to tame the famed cannibal of Calabria Ultra. Some felt a lackluster sort of hope awaken deep within them, daring to wish that the cannibal would eat their master and leave them free to escape. Those that knew Vercci better came to the unfortunate conclusion that a cannibal may soon be living amongst them and they could hardly be thrilled with this prospect. Very few slept and talk was scarce and sounded forced. The servants waited with queasy apprehension for the sound of thundering hooves and perhaps the high cold laugh they so despised.

In that dreary, silent space in between night and true dawn they could faintly make out the light rhythm of weight hitting the cobblestones up the olive tree enshrouded lane and out of their sight. All of them quickly took up their posts within and without the mansion, their faint hope in Vercci's death now as dead as anything else they had dared to hope for since becoming enslaved.

The light sounds gained volume and became the recognizable clatter of hooves. The ghostly figure of a horse and its rider detached themselves from the darkness as they moved steadily forwards. The gatemen swung open the elaborate wrought iron barrier between the mansion and the outside world, allowing their master to barrel onwards without having to slow his mount in the least and then re-latched it securely, both men looking extremely put out at Vercci's arrival. The lamps flickered as the animal galloped by and one of the gatemen could just make out the shape of a bound figure strapped to the horse. He quickly looked away and tried to shove the image from his mind.

Vercci pulled the reigns dramatically as he neared the entrance to his mansion, causing the winded and overloaded stallion to rear up and flail its powerful front legs. The stablemen backed away from the sweat drenched beast, pity and fluttering anger swelling in them as they saw the condition of the horse, it's sides bloody where Vercci had repeatedly dug his spurs into it, it's eyes wide and mouth and chest soused with its own foamy saliva. Under any other owner, the stallion would have been a prized and gleaming animal. Under Vercci it was a heaving and disheveled mess. One of them made for the reigns, hoping to take the beast to the stables for a good rest, but Vercci had already dismounted and swatted the man's hand away impatiently.

"Not yet, not yet." He spat under his breath as he wound about the stallion to face his captive. His voice was winded, as though he himself had run all the way back from cannibal corridor but the stablemen knew it was from the focused and demented glee in having achieved his goal. His eyes were bright, the lamplight dancing across the slick dark surface and making him look like a man possessed. Vercci exhaled nosily as he pulled on one of the ropes binding the cannibal to the stallion. Clotted blood came with the rope as he removed it, reopening the self-inflicted burns that had just mended. The cannibal breathed hard from his nose, a muffled sound pushing past his gag, as more ropes were removed and more wounds laid bare.

By now several servants had circled about the stallion, unable to help their curiosity and seized with an unexplainable desire to look upon the cannibal with their own eyes. Vercci did not mind their presence this one time and removed each scabbed strip of rope with a flourish fitting his almost childish excitement. They had only seen such excitement in Vercci once before, and that was as he had been breaking the man who was now his personal bodyguard, Cephas.

"You there," Vercci breathed to a servant on the opposite side of the horse, "Take his legs, don't dare untie them or you'll be his next meal. Get that end off the horse." The servant, whose name Vercci had never bothered to learn, looked rather ill, possibly due to the cannibals smell, but quickly complied, loosening the ropes and letting the legs hang slackly over the horse's broad side. The cannibal flailed slightly at this action and a low moan escaped his throat, his head pressed tightly back in pain as blood rushed into the legs that had been tightly fixed in the same position for hours. The servant jumped backwards as the cannibal moved and looked to Vercci for further instruction.

"There…there, yes, almost done." Vercci said to himself, now smiling his predatory smile as his hands danced across the cannibal, peeling the ropes away until the man was free from the stallion, although his wrists and ankles were still tightly bound, his eyes still covered and mouth still gagged. "Take his legs, support him." He barked suddenly to the now thoroughly unnerved servant.

Vercci pushed the cannibal forwards off of the horses back and the servant reluctantly took him by the waist to keep him from crumpling to the ground. Vercci was around the horse in an instant. He batted the man aside as he took the cannibal's arm over his shoulder, supporting him as he had done in the alleyway after knocking him unconscious.

The stable men quietly and quickly led the quivering horse away as Vercci half dragged the cannibal up the limestone staircase and into the mansion, the servants parting quickly and giving their master a wide breadth, gasping and exclaiming amongst themselves as they eyed the cannibal.

The cannibal was struggling now, his arms twitching and flexing as blood forced his deadened limbs to reawaken in a sensation of burning needles, his legs and bare feet trying to function against the cool slick tiles of the mansions interior. Vercci held fast, excited by the feel of the shivering body against his own and satisfied by the muffled howls of pain the cannibal exuded.

Vercci paused in the middle of the foyer, breathing heavily and looking about him. "Cephas!" He boomed, his sharp voice resounding in the open space. At once a tall and powerfully built man with a heavy brow, olive skin and hooked nose emerged from one of the studies located in the left wing of the mansion. He looked eager to obey as he bowed before his master, although his brown eyes were dull. "Have the concert hall lit and ready to receive me in ten minutes time." Vercci panted, while struggling to gain a tighter hold on his slowly reanimating captive.

"Yes, master, it will be done." Cephas grunted, in a heavy accent that suggested he had hailed from areas wilder than southern Italy, perhaps an Austrian left over from one of Austria's many failed attempts to conquer Naples. Vercci had never bothered to find out although he had at least seen fit to bestow his bodyguard a name, never mind what his real one had been. Cephas turned on his heal, motioning several other servants to join him in making the concert hall fit to receive Vercci and his rather…_disturbing_ new plaything.

Vercci leaned Voldo heavily against one of the slick limestone walls supporting the sweeping three-story staircase and wiped his glistening brow. The cannibal staggered, knees buckling, but he had regained enough control to keep himself from collapsing. He spasmodically flexed his arms and fingers, agitating the skin beneath the rough rope, but not concerned with it. Vercci watched the cannibal for a few moments before turning to the nearest servant and telling her to, "get everyone in the concert hall". She curtsied and began to spread the word at once, eager to remove herself from the presence of the cannibal and her master's manic eyes.

The concert hall was not a concert hall. That was simply the name Vercci used for it when not wishing to sound too suspicious around his fellow upperclassmen, or possibly to ease the guilt in his mind of the events that usually transpired there. Vercci did not often feel guilt, and on the rare occasion that he did, he was quick to cover it with a pleasant name as if to rationalize it and make it right. After his mind accepted the adopted term the things that took place in the concert hall never again bothered him. In fact, he looked forward to them in the way a poet would enjoy a Shakespearian play. The hall itself was simply a glorified dungeon. An arena had been dug into the center of the room and stadium seating had been erected around it, keeping viewers safe from whatever deviltry was taking place below them. Vercci had had a grand, marble viewing box carved for himself, front and center.

He let the cannibal stand, hoping the beast would quickly regain use of his limbs and was amused to see that he had his head bent towards his chest, bringing his long fingers to his face in an attempt to pull the gag out of his mouth and unbind his eyes. Vercci chuckled as he watched the cannibal struggle with the filthy pieces of cloth. They had been fastened at the back of his skull and his current restraints would not allow him the mobility to reach around and untie them. Vercci watched until the cannibal began to get extremely frustrated, at which point he grabbed him by the improvised leash he had tied about his neck and pulled.

The cannibal immediately dug his heals into the marble tiles in surprise and anger, refusing to be led by something he could not see to a location he could not guess. He twisted his torso forcefully with a limberness that caught Vercci off guard and slackened his grip on the lead. Grimacing, Vercci redoubled his efforts to drag the cannibal to the concert hall.

He pushed open the heavy oak door some fifteen minutes later, drenched with sweat and fully dragging the uncooperative and half choked cannibal behind him. As he entered the now lit and crowded hall, he had two servants lift his captive and carry him into the open arena as Vercci walked up the stone aisle to his viewing box. From there he watched with hungry eyes as the cannibal was lowered onto the dusty earthen floor, an indoor mockup of a gladiatorial ring. Here, he was Caesar. His eyes lighted upon Cephas, rocking on the balls of his feet near the entrance to the arena.

"Cephas!" He called out. The tall man quickly turned to him, and crossed the gritty arena floor, past the struggling cannibal and terrified servants.

"Yes, lord?" He inquired.

"Have the arena exits closed and barred." Vercci yelled down. Cephas bowed and immediately commanded the exits closed. As Cephas made to join his master in the top box, he realized that the aisles had been barred as well. The two servants hovering near the thrashing cannibal seemed to have noted this too. All of them were effectively trapped in the arena.

"Master?" Cephas's dull eyes were fully enlivened now.

"Cephas, you are my personal guard, are you not?" Vercci said drolly from his lofty perch. Cephas thought this a rather odd question.

"Of course, master."

"And you have been trained to be a most ruthless killer, have you not?"

"Yes, master, I have."

"Then you will not mind proving yourself."

Vercci strode out of his top box and down one of the aisles nearest to the cannibal. "You two," he called down to the servants, "cut the cannibal loose, unbind and un-gag him. Do this and you will be taken from the arena. You will be spared." Vercci smiled at them, and tossed a short dagger to the ground before their feet.

"Spared?" Cephas exclaimed, his voice now hoarse with disbelief as he stared from Vercci to the cannibal.

Vercci paid his guard no mind. "Come, come, he's already fed tonight so I find it highly unlikely that he will turn on either of you if you free him." He soothed the incredulous looking servants. One of them swallowed deeply, reached a shaking hand to the cannibals gag and undid it. At once the cannibal spat and shook his head before uttering a low, gurgling growl from deep in his throat, his mouth tight and teeth bared. Vercci's grin broadened. "The eyes, quickly, the eyes!" He cried, excitement again constraining his voice.

The blindfold was removed and Voldo was met with the bright light of the arena. He quickly made to hide his night-accustomed eyes behind his arm, his growl dwindling into a surprised hiss. "Do it, now, the arms! Free them!" The servant hesitated only a second, too accustomed and beaten by Vercci to disobey. He brought the dagger through the thick rope binding the wrists.

At once, Voldo's long sinewy arms snapped out in a flourish, catching the servant who had freed him across the throat. Stunned, the man went down, clutching at his crushed windpipe. The other servant raced to the blocked aisle entrance that Vercci lounged against. "Master!" he shrieked, "Master, let me out!" Vercci did not take his eyes off of the cannibal, who was now ripping open the soft abdomen of his felled and still live victim. "_Shh._" He hushed, bringing a finger to his lips.

Cephas was running now, not all of the nobility in him fully quelled, and made to intercept the cannibal and save the servants whose names he _had _bothered to learn. His primal scream caused the cannibals head to whip around. Immediately Voldo dashed towards this new threat, blood flying from his grimy arms and hands. As the two clashed, Vercci stood tall, eye's blazing, half laughing and half howling, "_Fight!_"


	5. Unclean Cleanliness

AN: Hey there! Thanks so much for the kind reviews! I am very glad that at least a few people seem to be enjoying this fic, as I am quite enjoying writing it. This was a very difficult chapter for me, for some reason. Perhaps it was the stress of school and work, but I don't know if it's quite as good as the others. Oh wells, I did my best. Keep the reviews coming please! They're giving me much needed confidence in my writing!

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Voldo scrabbled wildly across the earthen floor, using his arms to propel him forwards as his legs were still bound together; Vercci's convulsing servant was now in no fit state to finish freeing him. In fluid movements and in twisted mockery of a predatory cat, Voldo flung himself at the large and screaming man running towards him. The man, Cephas, if Voldo had connected the words the cruel one had spouted correctly, had removed a cold shining sliver of metal from a strap fastened across his hips.

Voldo knew the word for this object quite well and as before it elicited in him the same animalistic fury and terror that Vercci's sword had done in the alley way. The dagger arm lifted, Cephas aiming with deadly accuracy for the cannibals left shoulder and the thick, blood-filled arteries within it. Voldo paused for a fraction of a second, balancing his trussed legs and sprang again as the arm came down. He did not notice the look of shock in Cephas's deep set eyes as the dagger came down not to the satisfying resistance of parting flesh but with the easy, harmless whistle of severed air.

The cannibal felt the dagger pass his arm by the merest of distances and before his newest of many threats could recover the failed stroke, Voldo had rammed his balled up fists into the gritty floor and with a rippling wrench, pivoted his body in a circular arc, swinging his lower limbs into Cephas's side and kidney. The sustained momentum of this collision sent Cephas to the ground caused Voldo to skid forwards using his outstretched arms as brakes as the grit beneath him opened new burn marks.

Alarmed now and wasting no time Cephas twisted to a pained but standing stance, half stumbling towards the cannibal. Voldo contracted the muscles of his abdomen, bringing bound legs under his torso, while splaying his arms wide in preparation for the counterstrike.

It came from a different direction than he would have expected. Cephas again had raised his dagger but instead of making that familiar slashing movement, feigned it and struck out viscously with a roundhouse kick. The tough leather boot slammed into Voldo's face and he sprawled sideways, blood trickling from his mouth. Too fueled by adrenaline to realize his pain, Voldo made out the glistening metal through his tangled curtain of hair as it jabbed towards him yet again. Voldo arched his back so forcefully that his legs swung over him and towards his opponent, effectively reversing the target Cephas had been aiming for. The dagger that had been meant for his head met instead with the rope binding his feet and with a bristly snap the cannibal was again allowed the full use of his limbs.

Voldo made a wide side step; more to test the wound on his back than anything else and found with some confusion that the gash had apparently already closed itself. Although his left leg did not react with the swiftness it once did, he knew he could now easily outmaneuver his powerful but sanity-burdened opponent.

Cephas seemed to have come to this same conclusion and he was obviously furious with himself for inadvertently freeing the cannibal, his strong features twisted in anger. Taking a chance, Cephas turned his back on his foe, doing a quick flip to land near the now dead servant and the dagger lying beside him. He snatched up the weapon, thankful that it's handle had not been doused in slippery blood and feeling comforted now by the feeling of two blades at his command. His dark eyes flew to the cannibal, expecting to see him still crouched in a spidery fashion. He was startled then, to see that Voldo was no longer there.

The sound came from much closer than Cephas would have wanted; a low, withered gurgle, rattling up from the cannibals lungs, the foul breath brushing maddeningly on the back of his neck causing the hairs to stiffen in surprise. His foe was less than five inches away, standing behind him with the determined patience of a stalking beast. Cephas turned to find himself nearly level with the cannibal and his breath caught as he stared at the bloodied and filth covered face. Only the eyes were pure in the fetid mask and he had never seen eyes so unnervingly _mad_. Not in the wars. Not anywhere. Not even on Vercci. Cephas read his doom in them, prayed it was false but felt the unshakeable surety in the core of his being. He would not turn from it though.

Screaming, Cephas streaked both daggers inwards towards the cannibal's bare neck. Voldo did not take his eyes from Cephas as he brought his hands to other mans soft inner arm with the speed and surety of a striking snake. He dug into the well-muscled flesh and tore downwards, ripping gaping holes deep in the arm, rending tendons from bone. Cephas howled in pain, both daggers reflexively dropping from his quivering hands but Voldo did not hear, was too far in his predatory tunnel vision to be distracted. He dropped the clumps of flesh and muscle to the steadily reddening arena floor.

Cephas stumbled as Voldo bent so far backwards than his stained hands hit the floor and dug in. With strength one would not expect from his lean and wiry frame, Voldo hefted his lower body upwards, grabbing Cephas about the neck with his lower legs. He squeezed hard causing dry squelching noises to erupt from Cephas's slowly crushing windpipe. In one devastatingly fast motion, Voldo wrenched his upside-down body in an arc, flipping himself back to a forward facing position. Cephas, still gripped tightly about the neck had been flung over the cannibals straightening body and slammed face first into the ground, gravity and his own weight crushing his face as effectively as the speed of the cannibal's movement. His body slumped as Voldo released his hold against his neck.

Voldo stood, back hunched, arms hanging and chest heaving, the wound on his back reopened and bleeding angrily as he stared down at the body of his opponent. Cephas lay, his face ground into the dirt floor, body twitching and feet towards the cannibal. Not willing to leave the human alive, Voldo took cautious steps towards him; slowed by the pain edging it's way into his mind as his adrenaline subsided. He bared his teeth as he bent over the body, reaching one pail arm out towards the spine.

Cephas's arm swung up from its limp position at his side and caught Voldo in the face, looking more like a spasm than a controlled hit. Voldo jerked backwards in surprise. No human he had fought had ever posed a threat to him while in such condition. Cephas managed the strength to flip his body over, revealing a blood drenched and dirt plastered face that looked quite literally as though it had been run over by a carriage. Cephas was unable to stand and lay prone on the ground, staring with unfocused eyes at Voldo.

Some part of Voldo was amazed that the human was not yet dead and he edged towards the man once more, curiosity flaring up within him alongside renewed caution.

Again he bent over Cephas, head cocked slightly in raw interest. At once, Cephas jerked his leg out, catching Voldo point blank in the stomach. An explosive breath escaped Voldo as the kick dug in, his eyes widening in surprise. In the fraction of a second it had taken to exhale, another kick hammered him in the ribs, and again in the groin.

Voldo's inhalation was a screech as he lurched backwards off Cephas and away from his still flailing legs. He hunched forwards to ease the searing pain sweeping through his gut and groin, keeping his eyes locked on to the man that wouldn't die. Like a cat faced with a mouse that refused to stand down or run, Voldo was confused. These past few humans he had encountered were not like any others who had hunted him. At deaths door this one continued to fight. Surely he must know he would be killed? Voldo observed warily, waiting until the flailing slowed and what strength was left in Cephas seemed to evaporate.

Voldo treaded a circle about the twitching man, keeping himself out of range of the seemingly useless limbs; they had already proven themselves to be unpredictable in this area. Limp hands on shaking arms rose to the ravaged face and made slight clawing motions as if, in Cephas's half dead mind, he could pull the damage off. The dark eyes began to roll. Licking his lips and knowing any danger from this man was now gone, Voldo leaned over him and in a slow motion that would have appeared to be almost loving to an outsider, bit Cephas's throat out. The warm, coppery blood gushed into his mouth and down his throat and Voldo swallowed, welcoming the comfortable familiarity of the taste. He suddenly lifted his eyes from the corpse as if recalling that he was not in the sanctuary of his nest and could therefore not afford to devour his kill in peace. The other one, the _cruel_ one that had taken him here and tied him to that fearful beast…he would not leave him be, Voldo knew that much.

His eyes darted about the arena, breath heavy as the long exhaustion of the night's events pulled at his body. The remaining servant was cowering now, near the exit Vercci had sealed off, rocking back and forth and muttering something under his breath. Voldo eyed him and felt no threat from this one…and his own body was not willing to exude itself further without rest, food and water. This one would live. He had more urgent needs to attend to. Panic and confusion clouded his mind as he realized he was trapped in the arena. The length of time between being un-blindfolded and ending the fight had not given him sufficient time to inspect his surroundings. The skin on his neck prickled. He wanted his dark alley where humans that wanted only to kill him trespassed. Those, at least, had no hidden agendas. He wanted his solitude. He did not like the light. He did not like the noise of the crowd. And most of all he did not like the human coming down the steps and un barring an entrance to the arena, the smile he already despised plastered to the long face.

Breath quickening as the cruel one drew near, Voldo abandoned his kill, back hunched and head lowered although his unblinking gaze remained locked on this biggest threat of all. The smile did not falter, and the other expressed no distaste at what Voldo had done to the dead man. Voldo saw the fresh ropes in the others hands, the hard gleam of the others eyes. So unnerved by this that he could not bring his crazed mind to fight and without the ability to understand why he was here or what the other wanted from him, Voldo did something he had never done.

He turned and ran

* * *

. 

The sight of the cannibal's dripping maw, the beasts eyes wide with delicious _fear_ made Vercci feel as though he were walking on air as he strode easily onto the stained arena floor, stepping casually over the body of his loyal bodyguard. Cephas was now refuse, something fit only to be chopped and served to the dogs, but then, as his life had never held any value to Vercci, Cephas had _always_ been refuse in his eyes. The loss of the failed guard would trouble him no more than discarding a piece of trash and Vercci was delighted that his new trophy had made such short work of the man.

In the part of his mind so deadened by constant pleasure and the ease of obtaining whatever he desired, Vercci felt a dull flicker of amazement flair up. He'd not truly felt such an emotion for decades…until tonight and since laying his eyes on the cannibal he had felt it many times. Like an addict numbed by what used to give them pleasure and then reawakened by a more powerful drug, Vercci wanted more. More of those fluid, undulating movements that he'd never seen a human perform, more of the animalistic fury, more blood. His hands flexed convulsively has he neared the cannibal.

With surprise and a welcomed rush of amusement, Vercci watched as the cannibal abruptly turn and fled, his left leg beginning to drag and breath heaving. Vercci smiled smugly as the cannibal frantically wandered the oval arena, tracing the tall walls with bony fingers, searching for any foothold or hidden exit that would grant him freedom. Vercci allowed himself the pleasure of observing the fruitless, obsessive search of the cannibal before noting with a sense of foreign concern that the mans breath was coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The cannibal placed a hand to his ribs, eyes shining through his lank hair in urgent anger at the top of the arena partition; his pacing slowed but not stopped.

The death-fueled kicks of Cephas must have caused some damage to the cannibal's ribs, Vercci mused. Inwardly he was pleased that at least Cephas hadn't been a total waste and had not died without causing _some_ damage to his opponent. He took another few steps towards the gasping cannibal. Heedless of the pain he must have been in, the cannibal edged away warily, trying to keep his eyes both on Vercci and the arena wall.

Vercci sighed, realizing he would only send the man into a fearful flight that may inflict more harm on his tiring body. Idly, he raised his hand and waved it, a motion used to beckon his servants. Reluctantly, Vercci's nearest aids came timidly to his side. The three servants regarded the remains of Cephas with scantly disguised sorrow and disgust. They dared not openly emote around Vercci who addressed them without turning, steely eyes intent upon his captive. "Bind him. But do it carefully. I don't want him damaged further, understand me?" The men looked horrorstruck and stood rooted to their places; the nearby corpses of their comrades were more than enough to deter them from their order. They hesitated a fraction too long. Vercci whipped his head about in an icy glare. "If I must repeat myself, one of you will become his supper." He said pointedly. No further incentive was needed. He handed them each a coil of the rope he'd been cradling and leaned back, arms crossed as his servants went tremulously forwards.

Voldo saw the three fanning out in a half circle, his back up against the wall as he tried to even his breath and prepare to fight. As the man to his right moved a step too close Voldo lunged, but was immediately caught and half choked as the man to his left lassoed him about the neck and yanked hard. Voldo tumbled over onto his bruised side at the force of the pull, hands grasping the rope about his neck. As he tried to move to a sitting position, all three of them were upon him. They'd seen what he was capable of and none of them were willing to give him the second he needed to rip a part of their bodies off. In a struggling flurry of limbs and rope, Voldo was hastily bound once more. He growled and yelled, the tearing noises punctuated by sharp inhalations. He twisted about the dirt floor, unable to lash out or protect himself. The servants hastily backed away, shaking and hoping their task was complete as Vercci strode past and knelt by the cannibal.

Vercci looked over the man, who recoiled violently as he reached out to make sure the ropes wouldn't cut off his circulation. Egged on by the reaction of the cannibal, Vercci stroked the bare neck greedily, tracing the jugular. Voldo immediately snarled and tossed his head as if to fling the hand away but was too exhausted to twist himself about in the rage that was nonetheless flowing through him. Satisfied Vercci rocked on his haunches and whispered "Marvelous". His thin lips curled as he brought his fingers to his face and seemed to reach some understanding in his mind. He looked at the cannibal's skin in sudden distaste, one dark eyebrow raised. He stood suddenly and called out to a servant girl sitting nearby. "You, girl!"

She could not have been more than twelve and her face had a pallid, haunted look upon it, whether if it was from seeing such a gruesome display as the one that had just played out or whether it was from the dreary reality of her life, Vercci neither knew nor cared. She raised at once, obedience beaten into her, and curtsied. "Have a bath drawn in my chambers." He said, his eyes still dancing across the cannibals form. He wondered absently when the beast had last been truly clean. The greasy grime upon his fingers suggested several years. "And make sure it's _hot_."

* * *

Vercci's personal chambers were elaborate to say the least. The foyer led to a spacious bedchamber of polished limestone walls, intricate marble flooring and opulent Middle Eastern carpets. A king-sized canopy bed covered in the richest of deep red satin stood on a raised dais near a bay window and balcony. Floor to ceiling mahogany bookshelves lined one wall, stocked with issues of curious make and full of gruesome and perverted tales and instructions. A fireplace large enough for ten men to stand comfortably in, shoulder to shoulder, separated these bookshelves. The base of this ended in clawed feet, while the gaping mouths of miniature gargoyles flanked the mantle. A large circular, wrought iron chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, enough candles holstered in its frame to light the entire room. Stands supporting coats of armor from the medieval ages and further back into history decorated the room, while tapestries fluttered in the cool, early morning breeze.

If it weren't for the man that lived in the room, it would have seemed cultured, artistic and almost welcoming. The room was kept immaculately clean, but the servants who kept it in such a state were always quick to leave and reluctant to return. To the right of the foyer was the bath chamber.

There were no windows in the room for privacy reasons. A large ovoid bathtub had been built directly into the marble, so that one had to climb a small set of stairs to descend into the water below. A privy was located to the right and behind a marble partition. The servants, who still used bed pans and small tubs with no advances of modern plumbing often joked about sneaking in to use Vercci's bathroom while he was out on business. So far none had decided that a warm bath was worth their life.

Currently a small team of women servants were pouring a bath of the hottest water they could procure with the haste demanded of them, praying silently that the water would not scald it's guest and bring Vercci's wrath down on them. They had nearly finished this task when they heard footfalls against the marble of the bedroom. They swiftly laid out a pile of cloths, soaps and brushes, hoping that it would be enough for the gruesome and filthy man Vercci made to cleanse. Then, with the quiet rustle of aprons, they departed. None of them wanted to take part in the process.

Vercci entered just as the last of them disappeared down one of the service corridors. Behind him, the three men who had bound Voldo a second time had the weakly struggling cannibal hefted above them, each looking tense and profoundly disturbed as Vercci crossed over to the steaming tub and dipped his grime stained fingers in it. He pulled a face at the heat, but apparently decided it was the proper temperature for the task at hand.

"Alright," Vercci breathed as he turned back to his servants and captive, "set him down then wait in the foyer." The three exchanged glances and quickly rid themselves of their burden. Voldo tried to twist about and gain a better vantage point, but the only thing in his line of sight was the bottom most stair leading to the bath tub. He could sense the heat from it and did not like it. He turned his head wearily at the sound of retreating footsteps, somehow more afraid that the other humans had gone and left him bound and trussed before Vercci, the one who _didn't _fear him. He twisted his head back around as the sounds faded trying to look at Vercci out of the corner of his eye.

Vercci too had been watching his servant's retreat. Once he was certain they were out of earshot he squatted down towards the cannibal once more, and much to his captives surprise, took him by the chin, turning his face upwards and to his own. A long shudder seemed to wind down the cannibals spine as he registered the touch and the unwelcome closeness of the other.

Vercci stared down at him with medicinal interest, tilting the cannibals face to and fro. He chuckled to himself as examined the deep bruises already radiating out from the cannibals jaw and cheekbone. "I don't suppose it would do my fingers any good to see if you're missing molars from that hit, eh my friend?" He said jovially. He wiggled his digits, as if to emphasize their importance and then mimicked biting one of them. Voldo could only create a whisper of a growl. "And I don't suppose you understand me at all do you?" Vercci continued with a sigh as he stood up, letting Voldo's face fall back against the marble. Usually Vercci would not lower himself to miming to get a captive to understand him; a few well-placed blows or crushing statements were enough to cow an average man.

But the creature before him was anything but average and his usual methods could not therefore be expected to apply. He figured the cannibal was spent enough that even if he tried, he would not be able to cause too much damage before Vercci could overwhelm him. He removed the dagger from his knee holster that was usually concealed beneath the sash now lying on the bloody arena floor and the effect was immediate.

A low keening sound came from the cannibal as he spied the blade. Intrigued now that they were not on horseback and with room to investigate at his leisure, Vercci brought the dagger quickly before the cannibal's eyes. Another eerie keening cry as the blade neared. Vercci wondered if it were a sound of fear, helplessness or…perhaps even sadness, although he did not think the creature was capable of any emotion quite so advanced. He repeated the motion a few more times, each movement drawing out another mourning sound before the cannibal turned his head away from the blade, perhaps thinking that if he could not see the threat, then it would cease to threaten.

Vercci cut loose the robe binding the cannibal's arms. Voldo immediately tried to claw his way forwards, but Vercci held him tight by the rope about his neck as he finished freeing his legs. Voldo kicked out but hissed in pain as his side flared in vehement pain at the motion.

Vercci suddenly pulled at the rough leash, dragging Voldo towards the source of the heat he'd felt while lying against the condensation-covered floor. He squirmed enough to cause Vercci some aggravation. Vercci released the rope, wiping his glistening brow against the humidity of the bathroom and sighing heavily. "I am NOT going to hurt you." He bit out. "But I will _not _have something as filthy as yourself wandering about, fouling up my possessions." Vercci paused staring at nothing in particular as he realized that the cannibal had clearly not understood anything he'd just uttered. He rolled his eyes as he crossed over to the tub and cupped some of the water in his hands, bringing it before the cannibals face.

"Bath." He said, allowing some of the water to slosh over the edge of his hand and onto the cannibals arm.

Voldo jerked, but he did not make any terrified sounds; something Vercci took to be a sign of progress. "Understand? Clean." He poured the rest of the water onto Voldo's forearm, and then rubbed it vigorously until the layers of accumulated filth detached and floated off in the light trickle of brownish, now un-useable water. "Clean." Vercci repeated and showed the cannibal his own forearmed where a gleaming oval of clean skin shone lightly against the surrounding grime.

Voldo stared at the spot on his arm in some confusion, fear edging away and slowly becoming replaced with curiosity. Vercci cupped more water and poured it on the cannibal's wrist, again scrubbing and repeating, "Clean." Voldo had stiffened at the touch; his curiosity at the new color of his forearm vanishing instantly as Vercci manipulated his wrist…but again, white skin seemed to materialize out of the grime and Voldo's fear was deadened by another unwelcome flair of curiosity.

"Yes, see? You understand. _Clean_, that's what that is." Vercci pointed out taking Voldo's arm again to examine his work. His brow furrowed as he looked closely at the color of the skin beneath the greasy foulness. It was white. Impossibly white. Seized by curiosity and a strange, hopeful desire, Vercci cupped another handful of water and scrubbed part of the upper arm clean, ignoring the raised burn marks brought on by Voldo's struggles against the horse. His stomach fluttered in excitement as he saw the alabaster pail skin now unearthed to the bright candlelight.

In hurried excitement he bent over the cannibal and began to tear off the grime encrusted, lank strips of clothing. Voldo made an exclamatory noise at this, twisting in his bindings, and hissing slightly as some of the clothing that had been encrusted to his skin was peeled roughly away. The combination of his wounds, bindings and fear made it quite impossible for him to lash out. Only through his panicked and angry vocalizations could he make his discomfort known.

Not that it seemed to be doing much good. Vercci was in a frenzied state and he did not cease his actions until the cannibal was laid bare, all filth and sinew, before him. Voldo's breath had quickened as far as his broken ribs would allow, his heart hammering within him. Although his clothing had been scant, it had almost literally become a part of him. Psychologically he felt completely unprotected, as if the thin strips could somehow have helped deflect a sword.

Vercci stood and stared down at the naked cannibal, eyes dancing in the candlelight, desire and fanaticism flickering disturbingly within their dark depths. If the mans entire body was as pure white as the bits of exposed flesh on his arm would suggest…Owning such a creature as this…A shiver wound up Vercci's spine at the thoughts running through his head. Ignoring the cannibals retched noises, Vercci bent over, took the cannibal under the arms and slid the bound man slowly into the cooling water, smiling perversely to himself as he did so. It was time to unwrap his prize.


	6. Michelangelo's Madman

AN: Hey there! Sorry for the wait on this one and it's not as long as the previous chapter. However, I found this to be pretty tasty to write even if it was wrongggg in parts.. Hehehe. Remember, this is rated M and it will earn the rating, if it hasn't already. I will keep it a tasteful M however. If that's possible. heheh, Don't mind me, I'm in a giggly mood. Thanks again to those of you who reviewed! Keep 'em coming pleeaaase!

* * *

As the hot water enveloped Voldo's body he was reminded of the warm caress of fresh blood and he would have found the experience enjoyable if it hadn't been for the sickeningly sweet aroma that wafted to his nostrils in an unshakable vapor. Another factor in his displeasure was the man hovering over him, hands clenched obstinately against his arms, holding him tightly against the back of the tub and ensuring that escape was impossible. The bottom of the tiled tub was slippery enough that Voldo could not gain the necessary footing to push back against Vercci and weaken his grip.

His body was being fully uncooperative and oblivious to his panicked minds desires. Any movement that involved the use of his back caused the reopened wound to gape, allowing hot water and suds to rush into it, making it feel as though he were being scorched from the inside out. Searing pain fluttered across his chest with each breath, making overexertion a dangerous idea. His head swam, his jaw and groin ached deeply, his burns burned and his captor grinned.

His mind was exhausted. He'd not faced such deviances in his routine for the length of his remembered life and he was without the ability to cope with this new environment, this human or understand why he was here to begin with, if not to be killed. Because he could neither fight nor understand, Voldo began to retreat to a place he knew only slightly more thoroughly than this foreign room: His mind.

His breathing calmed, his panic induced tremors subsided, although those caused by pain continued their weary course throughout his body, and Voldo allowed his captor to 'clean' him, neither present or absent in the whole situation. He stared unseeingly at the gleaming marble opposite him.

Vercci took his new pets sudden lack of fear or hostility to mean that he'd given up trying to escape. He did not know that Voldo had already escaped, at least mentally. He would return when his body was fit enough to fight and obey.

While Voldo's breath slowed, Vercci's quickened. He grabbed the nearest bar of soap and towel and worked them into a furious lather. He leant in close, taking Voldo by the shoulder to steady himself as he set to work uncovering the cannibals bare back. Vercci was momentarily concerned that his touch hadn't elicited a shudder of disgust from the cannibal, thinking how depressing the beast would prove to be if he were already bent to his will. The thought was quickly shelved as he wiped away layers of filth, revealing the lean and wiry back musculature. Vercci ran his hand against the now clean and smooth surface, lingering over the divots and warm sinew of muscle and bony knobs of spine, excitement coursing through him.

He cleaned what was visible of the cannibal's back, arms and neck, taking one glance at the matted and greasy tangles of hair and deciding to save that chore for last. What had been revealed of the cannibal's body was as starkly white as the bar of soap in his desire-clenched hand. He breathed slowly out of his nose as he took his captive by the shoulders and spun him about, so that they were facing each other, although he kept a healthy distance away from the mouth. Vercci was vaguely disquieted that the cannibal did not jerk back in surprise. He could make out the gleam of the cannibal's eyes through the ropey tendrils of hair, but could not discern the location of his gaze. Again, he shrugged off the insubstantial feeling of unease as his mind returned to the task at hand.

He dipped a new cloth into the tub, lathering it prodigiously and began to scour the chest of the cannibal, glancing up periodically to make sure the deadly and still filthy mouth was not rushing towards him. When the upper torso and arms were cleansed, Vercci leaned back, eyes darting across the alabaster surface in wonder. The pectorals and abdominal muscles were crisscrossed with thin scarlet fissures, as though a marble statue had opened up and bled. He traced the burn marks delicately, watching the cannibal's face closely, but Voldo remained cached away in his mind and gave no reaction.

Vercci licked his lips subconsciously as he took the cannibal under the arms once more and maneuvered the man up to the edge of the tub so that the lower body could be reached and cleansed. The water had loosened much of the grime that had caked the cannibal as he'd soaked and although it was devoid of much of the greasy clumps that had plagued the upper body, it remained several shades darker.

Vercci could not help the flaring of desire within him as he began to wash the prominent hipbones, his heart rattling and mouth tightening as he fought with his hunger to own every bit of the man before him. _Not yet_ he thought to himself. It was too early to do all that he wished to the cannibal without suffering repercussions in his captive's elusive mental state. _Not yet_.

Thankfully, for Vercci's scantly controlled desire and the cannibal's well being, no scrubbing was needed on the gentiles; most of the grime had detached during the cannibal's soak and all that was needed was a light dousing of soapy water. He allowed his hand to linger on the cannibal's manhood for longer than was necessary, grinning broadly. Vercci stole another quick glance at his captives face as he moved from the gentiles and saw that the same unfocused and emotionless expression registered on the filthy mask. Inwardly, Vercci wondered if the cannibal was even capable of arousal. _Not yet_, his mind bit out once more. Vercci moved obstinately to the legs, lathering them and rinsing, still amazed at the bloodless color of the skin.

His desire flared up once more as he turned the cannibal about to clean his backside. Again, not much of the lower body required the close contact the upper had demanded and Vercci was thankful for it at the moment, if he were to remain in control of himself. Once this was done, Vercci slid the cannibal back into the tub, looking with resigned annoyance at the matted strands of hair.

He grabbed a shallow pitcher lying near the now soiled mass of towels and began to wet the tangles, reluctantly working the mess with his fingers. Lavish amounts of soap and several rinsing were required and after a solid fifteen minutes Vercci was satisfied with the cannibals hair. He ran his fingers through the smooth limp tresses, remarking at the color, the likes of which he had never seen on a human scalp. It was the opaque color of rotted straw, a deadened blond/gray and it stood out brilliantly against the darkness of the filth-ridden face.

Vercci had saved the face for last, in part because he was reluctant to keep his hands near the beast's mouth no matter how calm the cannibal seemed to be. He spun the man about again and brushed the lank hair away from the forehead and out of the eyes. Vercci gasped.

The _eyes. _He brought a quivering hand to his lips as he leant in close to the cannibal, staring at the orbs in outright amazement. In the length of the night and early morning he had not been able to clearly study the cannibal's face. Darkness or the curtain of hair had made glimpsing anything other than the glint of the shining surface impossible.

There was no color in the iris; it had the murky gloss of a dead mans cataract, except that the round black pinprick of pupil remained vivid and un-clouded. The only thing keeping the iris from blending completely with the sclera was its needle thin outline of smoky gray. The stark black pupil seemed to float in a sea of pearlescent white. The effect was startling, unnerving and so profoundly _wrong _that Vercci allowed a moan of longing to escape his throat. He doubted that eyes like these had ever been seen by any generation on this earth. This creature was truly unique, a treasure greater than any in his vaults. Had Vercci been a believer of God, he would have thought himself blessed to own the man before him and would have thanked the Lord he regarded with disdain on bent knees right then and there.

In his awestruck observation he had drifted so close to the cannibal that their faces were mere centimeters away, as though the white eyes were pulling him in with their dead stare. As the tip of Vercci's nose brushed the cannibals foul skin, the eyes snapped to him. Voldo moved back slowly, drawn out of his reverie as reluctantly as poison from a vein as he was forced to register the man so unacceptably close. Voldo hissed low in his throat but the sound faltered, turned into a wince as he hunched forward to ease the pain in his ribs.

Now that the eyes had removed their stare from him, Vercci felt himself come out of his daze as though a trancelike connection had been broken. He shook his head slightly, brow furrowed, realizing that he must have spent several minutes gazing into the black, empty pupils and also worried that he'd let himself become so captivated. That was not his role; things never owned him, never _captivated_ him. He regarded the cannibal with renewed caution, although lust still pounded fiercely within him. Vercci smirked in amusement. While his hand on the captive's manhood had not drawn any reaction, the closeness of their faces had sent the beast into a fearful and instant retreat, albeit a flawed one. The implications of that alone were enough to make Vercci want to toy with the man, but the cannibal's reaction to his surroundings was now so bizarre as to keep the perverted thoughts from making the leap to perverted physical actions.

The cannibal had backed into the center of the tub, away from Vercci but also away from any exit. Wounded, frustrated, tired and terrified the cannibal was no longer capable of making audible sounds, whether this was from the pain in his ribs or from pure, vocal inhibiting fury, Vercci could not tell. The cannibal opened his mouth in a silent howl, dirty lips stretched and teeth bared, closed it in a grimace and loosed a mute cry, that, had it had volume, would have pierced Vercci's ears. As the silent tirade continued the cannibal began to swing his head from side to side, much like an agitated horse, although on a human it appeared more akin to an epileptic fit, or the crazed rocking of a mad man in a cruel asylum.

Vercci found the spectacle beautiful although the underused emotion of concern began to flare up in him again, stealing some of the potency of his lust away in the process. Vercci's only concern in the event of the cannibal going completely insane, if he was not already, was that he might not be able to train the man properly, or elicit the amount of control he desired. More for his longing than for any actual care of the beast, he began to wind along the round, tiled edge of the tub, hoping he might catch hold of the leash around the swinging neck, pull the man back and force him to calm down. He was keenly aware that the cannibal would damage himself if he continued his strange fit.

Vercci, reached out, ringed fingers splayed wide, caught the now sopping rope and pulled the cannibal towards him. The head swung around to face him so violently that Vercci was amazed that none of the cannibal's vertebra cracked in protest. The eyes were wide, livid and so empty looking that Vercci was both in awe and repelled. He pulled the rope harder, and the cannibal weakly resisted. As the man seemed to realize he could not yet fight, the anger in the glossy eyes became replaced with fear, something that caused Vercci to lick his thin lips, and, just as quickly as he'd come to consciousness, Voldo had retreated back inside his mind, numb and cowering in his inner nest.

Vercci was slightly startled at how quickly the cannibal had again given up resisting. This would either making bending him to his will entirely too easy or a challenge the likes of which he'd never faced. Not whishing to get his fingers ripped off, Vercci waved them experimentally in front of the dead eyes. The cannibal gave no reaction and no gnashing teeth removed his digits and expensive jewelry. Satisfied that the beast would cause him no harm, but now careful to keep his face away from the cannibal's own, Vercci grabbed another cloth. Half cradling the head in the crook of his arm, Vercci began to scrub clean the skin of the cannibals face.

He had not been able to discern much of the beast's facial structure, as the face was easily the filthiest part of the body, almost nauseatingly so. Layers of dried blood and bits of flesh had hardened around the mouth, cracked and flaking as though it were a scab trying to heal. The rest of the face was speckled and streaked with blood and the general accumulated grime and grease that went along with never bathing. Vercci was careful to keep the soapy cloth away from the cannibal's eyes, in part to keep form marring the pale surface with irritated redness and also to keep the cannibal safely docile within his mind.

As he scrubbed the jaw and cheekbones, Vercci became aware that the man possessed an angular and well-defined face. He slopped prodigious amounts of water and soap about the mouth, and saw that the lips, while not full were symmetrical and possessed a very faint rusty color perhaps stained from blood. The nose was cleaned next, which proved to be straight and slightly large, a perfect compliment to the angles of the deep cheekbones. The brow was not heavy, nor was it sloping. Staring hard into the clean, colorless face of his captive, Vercci knew that if any other human had possessed a visage like this, they would have been deemed attractive. To Vercci, this man was more than attractive. He was the _ideal_. When seen in his wiry, angular and stark white entirety, Vercci looked upon the cannibal as a marble sculpture the likes of which Michelangelo himself could never have hoped to create, a trophy, a work of art of such perverse beauty that Vercci could do nothing but stare and flex his fingers lustily.

Every bit of control he possessed was called upon to keep himself from giving into the carnal desire coursing through him. He wanted the man before him, wanted him so fiercely that his temples throbbed and his skin reddened. Knowing that if he were to touch the cannibal, if only to remove him from the bath, he would disintegrate completely and end up in some position he might regret if the cannibal were to come to his senses, Vercci called for his servants in a strained voice.

The two men who had been lingering in the foyer entered, careful to keep their eyes averted lest they glance at the tub and it's occupant. They found Vercci standing so still it looked as though he had gone ridged, but his stance was the result of keeping his composure, which strained him greatly. He managed to bite out instructions, his voice taught and clipped.

"Take him from the bath, dry him and put him in the cell nearest to my bed chambers."

Each of them regarded him incredulously before turning away and walking up the short stairway to the tub. Seeing the stark white body of the cannibal caused them to halt in surprise. Seeing the white, inhuman eyes staring blankly was enough to make each of them want to turn and flee. But knowing that Vercci was in a peculiar mood, they reluctantly took hold of the cannibal's arms, dragging him out of the tub. As they went about drying the man, disgust showing plainly on their features, they heard Vercci utter "Do not go near his face," which was a rather useless thing to say as neither of them would have dared to do such a thing.

In under a minute the cannibal was dry and the two men took him again under the arms, and transported the long, wiry body to Vercci's bedchamber

* * *

. 

The farthest row of bookshelves, directly opposite Vercci's rich bed on its dais, concealed a short hallway comprised of cold stone. In the dark, claustrophobia inducing space were six small holding cells built directly into the stone, each completed with a thick wooden door and within that a thin rectangular window barred with iron. These cells were dear to Vercci's heart and he put his most treasured captives here, so that he may hear their wails and curses as he slept. He never slept so soundly as when one of them began to break. The knowledge that he slept in sheets of satin, while others could be shut up in a dark, closet sized cell when he wished it made him feel both secure and incredibly powerful. He wanted the cannibal close to him, not yet in his bed, but certainly not in the dank dungeons in the lowest level.

He walked ahead of the servants and their load, to the familiar sliding panel of books and pushed down on a thick unused copy of _The Holy Bible_, grinning at the irony as he always did when the holy book triggered the panel to slide back into the wall and reveal hell.

Currently, no unfortunate souls resided in these cells. The last man to have been in one of these dark recesses had been Cephas. The servants holding the cannibals arms had broken out in a sweat, terrified that they may be whisked away and forced to go mad in the isolated darkness at their master's whim. Neither of them realized that they were not nearly important enough to garner a spot so close to Vercci's heart. They were more likely to be killed and fed to his newest captive. Vercci spoke suddenly, breaking the tomblike silence of the corridor as he unlocked the cell nearest to the bedchamber. It opened with the heavy moan of old wood, dust accumulating on the rim of the door breaking free and falling lightly to the ground.

"Lay him down in here, then you," he motioned to the man nearest him, "bring some blankets off a guest bed." Vercci's eyes were alight, feverish with longing and fearful happiness. "And you, go to the kitchens and have a plate of raw meat prepared. Also, bring a large bowl of water." Compared to how most of his captives lived in these cells, Vercci was setting the cannibal up like a king.

As the servants left to fulfill their tasks, Vercci crossed over to an elaborate, claw footed, wardrobe to the right of his bed. In one of the lower drawers he removed a stretch of thin, but strong black thread, shoved aside instruments of cruel make and crueler intention, and found a needle suitable for the cannibal. In a smaller box within the wardrobe, Vercci snatched up a small round container of thick translucent salve.

He walked back into the corridor and knelt in the doorway of the first cell, where the cannibal lay sprawled and bare, still locked within his mind even as his body was about to become a prisoner in Vercci's asylum.

Vercci regarded the naked form with maddening appetite, allowing himself to drink in every detail of the alabaster flesh, made eerily luminescent from the indirect candlelight. Swallowing deeply, he flipped the cannibal over so that the chest was on the cold stone floor. He knelt over the back, spreading a thick layer of salve over and inside of the now angrily inflamed dagger wound. He threaded his needle with the antenna-like string and began to stitch the cannibal up once more, this time making the stitches closer and tighter. He doubted the wound would reopen even if the cannibal were to beat himself senseless against the walls, as others had done in years past.

As soon as this task was finished, he heard the echoing footsteps of a servant returning. The man hurried into the bedchamber and visibly paled several shades as he spied Vercci bent over the cannibal's unclad backside. Vercci turned to him with a wicked grin, knowing exactly what the man had assumed he'd been doing and making no attempt to correct the thought. "You may set those down and leave," he said, humor in his voice although it went unheard by the servant who set the pile of quilts down before the doorway, turned and walked quickly from the room. Vercci heard his footsteps quicken into a run as the man entered the foyer. _Let him think what he wants to think_, Vercci thought, delightedly.

Vercci stood, mostly to keep himself from doing what the servant had assumed he'd already been doing and also to return the salve and needle to their respective drawers. By the time this was done, the other servant had entered, a tray of raw, bloody meat in one hand and a bowl of water cradled in the crook of his arm. Vercci removed these items from him gingerly and then dismissed the man. He entered the small corridor once more, tossed the blankets over the cannibals pale form and set the tray of raw meat before him, lowering the bowl of water nearby. He stole one last glance at his captive before closing the heavy door and locking it with a metallic clink. He then exited the corridor, pushed _The_ _Holy Bible _down and let the bookshelf slide back into its proper place.

Vercci realized, as the bookshelf thudded thickly into its groove, that he was tired. He'd been so fantastically excited from the nights and early mornings events that he'd not spared a second to realize that he, like the cannibal, was bordering on exhaustion. He crossed over to his bed, sat on it for several twitchy moments and then stood and began pacing the length and breadth of his chambers, possessed by some manic energy and left over adrenaline that refused to dissipate. He could not get the image of the now clean cannibal from his head and as he paced, he was seized with the desire to unlock the cell door and have his way with the beast. Something, perhaps the knowledge that the cannibal's appetite may have been awoken due to the plate of raw mean sitting near to him, held him back each time this craving took hold.

He was left feeling frustrated, lust filled and tired all at once. He crossed back over to his bed and pulled on one of the many cords near his desk. This would rattle a bell in the kitchen and hopefully send a servant up to inquire about his dietary needs. He was hungry, though his appetite was not for food. After a few minutes he heard footsteps in the foyer, and a servant woman stood apprehensively in the tall doorway, awaiting an order that she could relay to the cook. Vercci stood and began to walk towards her. She stiffened, already wary. Usually her master would simply bark out an order…never would he confront her directly. She was not important enough for that.

He took her roughly by the arm, and immediately she knew what he desired and fought to flee. He dragged her forcefully towards his bed, nearly wrenching her arm out of its socket as she screamed in her native tongue and was heard by no one but her master and the mad man behind the bookshelf. She flailed against him, but Vercci's excitement only doubled as he felt her fear roll off of her in waves. She kicked viciously as he tossed her onto the satin sheets and bent over her, fumbling with his pants. Just because he lacked ropes, did not mean he lacked the ability to restrain. He held the nameless servant still as he began to ravage her. Vercci did not see her tear streaked face, nor did he hear her muffled cries. Instead, in his mind, he saw the wide white eyes of the cannibal and felt his wiry body beneath him.


	7. Fear the Fearless

AN: Whew...long time, no write! Sorry about the ridiculous wait on this chapter. I just got done having an incredibly weird summer and the worst semester of my life. Because I have been steadily receiving encouraging reviews I decided to get back to this. Please do forgive the wait. I'm not sure if the style of this chapter will follow with the rest as it was written nine months later than the last. Please review! They're keeping this story going!

* * *

Voldo came blearily to his senses, body aching against the cold stone floor. Opening his eyes revealed darkness more deep and more oppressing than any moonless night he had ever faced. Even the blackness behind his lids was not as jet as this. Heart racing, Voldo closed his eyes, thinking in the depths of his mind that perhaps he had not actually opened them, but as they slowly lifted he found that the blackness remained heavily in place. On the verge of panic, Voldo swept out a long arm and brought his hand before his face. He couldn't see his fingers, not at point blank range. He wondered if he had gone blind and the thought terrified him to the point of a desperate wail. How could he hunt without his sight? More importantly, how could he fight against his captor?

At this point he realized that something was lying lightly against his skin. He reacted with a jerk, fighting to get out from under the unknown object, but he took no more than two steps before he had hit an abrasive and cold wall of stone. Senses rattled, Voldo turned on his heal and headed in the opposite direction, arms stretched out before him. They jabbed a similar surface. The panic that had not yet died gained new potency as Voldo repeated the process on the remaining two walls of his prison and understood that he was trapped. He hunched low to the ground, mouth tightening slightly as his back twinged, but he paid it no mind as he ran his fingers over every inch of the stone closet. His breath came in quickening gasps. His searching digits could find no crack in the wall, no opening on the thick wooden door, and the iron bars would not yield to his prying strength. Voldo took a step backwards only to have his foot collide with something hard. He heard water slosh about and felt it spill onto his foot as he backed away. He reached his hand out to the source of the noise and wetness and felt the smooth ceramic of a bowl. Cautiously he dipped his fingers into the water and brought them experimentally to his nose. The water smelled clean…cleaner than he had tasted in years. Feeling blindly, he picked the bowl up in wavering hands and brought it greedily to his mouth. He drained the contents in seconds and set the bowl haphazardly against the impenetrable door.

Voldo rocked mindlessly on his haunches as he tried to formulate an escape and also come to terms with the fact that escape seemed to be impossible. The cruel one had taken him…tied him to the hideous beast of an animal, pitted him against a bizarre human…_cleaned_ him and now…now he was locked away. _What_ did he want with him? Obviously not to kill him; he could have done that many times over by now. Most humans wanted only that and yet this one had come to him not with the intention to kill but with something else on his foreign mind. He had even tried to talk to him, as good as that had done. Voldo had only understood fragments of the mans speech such as 'quiet', 'hurt', 'fight' and now, the new word, 'clean'. He would have understood more if he had not been so insufferably confused.

Perhaps he could try speaking to the cruel one. If his vocalizations and body language had not been effective thus far, maybe speech would awaken his captor. Voldo did not truly believe that whatever he said would have an effect on the man. The hard gleam in his black eyes, the strange way he bared his teeth and the overall feeling of wrongness that emanated from him was enough for Voldo to know that the man would do what he wished regardless of any spoken demands. He was thusly left in a bitingly frustrating state of inactivity.

He swung out with all the rage of a wild, caged beast, his balled fists pummeling the wooden door and shaking sooty clouds of dust from the ceiling. He screamed and flung himself towards the opposite wall, beating against it as though it were not made of lacerating stone, but of pliable flesh. He did not stop until his fists were raw and bleeding, and until his back jolted him sharply. He sunk down to the floor of his prison, breathing in raspy hisses, and realized that the strange object that had been covering him had been nothing more threatening than the cloth on his body. Or…_had _been on his body. He growled lowly, as the memory of the cruel one stripping him bare played through his mind. As he was, Voldo felt no more shame at his exposed body than a dog would of its, but he longed for the dirty strips of cloth, if only for the psychological comfort they had offered.

The presence of the bowl of water and the blankets expressed care and this notion only deepened and saturated his confusion. Was the man going to sustain him yet keep him locked away? Voldo bowed his head to his chest, mouth half open in a snarl. It was then that his nostrils picked up a familiar scent. He brought his head down close to the floor, feeling before him until his fingers came into contact of a slick, spongy material he knew well. The raw meat smelled fresh; the thick coppery smell of blood enough to entice his stomach into groveling growls. Voldo ate the small chunk of meat he had a hold of quickly. The taste was not human, but it was not displeasing. He devoured the remaining heaps of meat, blood running down his previously clean face in deep rivulets. He licked his lips, fingers and the plate clean, knowing he would need every bit of sustenance if he were to be in any sort of condition to escape, providing the opportunity presented itself.

The thought that his captor had provided him with not just warmth and water, but now fresh meat was enough to make Voldo want to peel his skull apart if only to end the unanswerable questions winding through it. Did the cruel one mean to fatten him up and then devour him, himself? Voldo did not understand the irony of such a situation nor could he think of one that did not involve his eventual death. Not knowing what else to do, Voldo pulled the layers of cloth about him, glad of their warmth yet detesting their origin, and allowed himself to fall into a deep and gloriously question free sleep.

The cruel one did not disturb Voldo for nearly 14 hours although to Voldo, the exact length of time meant nothing and could not be gauged. He had slept deeply regardless of his situation and had not moved in all of those hours.

For Vercci however, time had crawled by more slowly than he had believed it capable of. After awaking in the early morning he had again been nearly overcome with the desire to look upon his trophy but he relented time and time again. He did not call upon any servants to abuse and he instead took to pacing the length of his bedchambers. He paused only to sit and fidget or to look through a particularly gruesome book that he already knew by heart. He wanted the beast to be rested, alert and ready to be broken. He wanted a challenge and if the man kept retreating into his own mind he would be severely disappointing.

Sitting in an ornate chair of decorated and gilded ivory near to his bookcase, Vercci closed his book and set it aside, nostrils flared with anxiety. He leaned over and pressed his ear against the Holy Bible that triggered the case to open into his prison cells and listened intently, hoping that perhaps he could hear the cannibal growling, or beating the walls but was as disappointed as he had been for the past half a day. Some few hours after he had fallen asleep the night before, he had been gloriously awoken by a chilling cry and the dull thuds of a body flinging itself at hard stone. Since then, the cannibal had been silent, and Vercci hoped in a rather indifferent way that the cannibal had simply fallen asleep and had not managed to somehow kill himself.

By midday Vercci could stand it no longer. It was a bright and hideously humid day and the conditions were not ideal for waiting patiently. He stood jerkily and pressed down on the Holy Bible. Once the bookcase had swung inwards Vercci rushed into the claustrophobic space, already grinning into the inky darkness. He knelt slightly and pressed his ear against the thick, dusty oak of the cell door that contained his prize. He listened hard for several tense moments, the dank interior nearly electrified with his desire. He swallowed deeply; no sounds could be heard coming from the cell. Vercci was nearly ready to pull back when the entire door rattled and shook on its iron hinges. An ear-piercing shriek, nearly inhuman in its frequencies, accompanied the deep boom of the shaking door and Vercci whipped his head back in gracious surprise.

The cannibal was awake, alert and obviously extraordinarily angry. Or perhaps extraordinarily frightened. Vercci did not much care which was the case. He took a step back, rocking on the balls of his feet and abruptly opened the door.

He'd expected the cannibal to fairly explode from the cell, as a caged bird to the free sky, but he was quickly learning that what he expected and what the cannibal actually did were two very different things. If Vercci had not just had his eardrums rattled by the cannibal's tirade against the door, he would have thought the man had simply disappeared; there was no sign of him in the deep shadow of the hold. Then, obscurely illuminated by the faraway light of day, the beast crept cautiously towards the exit of his cell, eyes sweeping the area for the threat he knew existed.

Voldo spied Vercci standing slightly to the right of his cell door, backlit by harsh slivers of light that pierced his dulled sense of sight. Voldo wanted nothing more than to flee, but the way the other was standing and simply staring was enough to halt that urge. Would the cruel one lash out? Did he have a sword? Voldo knew that word well. Trapped by his indecision Voldo lifted his head and breathed deeply, hoping he could catch a scent that would give him some clue to his situation. He sniffed at the thick wood of the door and could smell old blood caught in nail marks and gauges. Warily, he craned his neck around the doorframe, eyes intent upon Vercci but also making frantic glances to the light.

He leapt forwards all at once, racing out of the dark hall and into Vercci's bedchamber. Once out in the light he paused only for a fraction of a second in confusion, before streaking for the door that led to the balcony. Vercci had no doubt that the cannibal would have leapt from the balcony and obtained a brutal but final freedom on the polished limestone below. He was quite glad he'd had the foresight to lock the door. Voldo rattled the handle feverishly and tore away from it, his eyes wide. He edged frantically around the perimeter of the room, his agitation showing plainly in his labored breath. His spidery hands groped surfaces as he ran, but nowhere could an exit be found. End tables and chairs were toppled in his progress. A suit of armor fell to the ground in an excruciating clatter causing Voldo to jerk. His every sense was on edge and the fact that his captor was still calmly watching him quickened his run into a sprint. He entered the foyer, bare feet slapping against the cool marble and hurled himself into the thick gaudy door. The impact likely bruised his shoulder, but he paid it no mind. He clawed at the door, mouth tight in a desperate grimace before he remembered the use of the door knob. He twisted it and again, the door held fast. Fairly spitting in rage and fear, he about faced and ran into the room opposite. He screeched to a halt, recognizing this room as the one he'd been cleaned in and was loath to examine it further. His addled gaze found a small door to the right of the bathtub and he rammed into it, tried the knob and howled in frustration, pummeling the sleek wood with scabbed fists.

He spun around, chest rising and falling rapidly. He could find no exit that had not been blocked or barred and his fear was quickly giving way to fury. He loped away from the bathroom and into the foyer once more. His pale eyes examined the ceiling 20 feet above him and every wall in his light of sight. There was nothing. No way out. The scream that came from him was silent from throat constricting anger. He whipped around and saw that Vercci was still there, the same thin-lipped smile on his face. The fact that the human _still _did not fear him, even when it could plainly see how furious he was…Voldo snapped. He raged towards Vercci, nearly blinded by his hate and arched a long arm towards the bare neck.

He'd expected to be struck with a sword, but instead, a thick baton collided with his arm, nearly breaking the bone. Vercci stepped aside quickly and slammed the baton across the cannibals back. Voldo's back arched reflexively and he shrieked in pain as he sunk to his knees, cradling his throbbing arm.

"No." Vercci stated, walking about the cannibal in a circle.

Voldo got to his feet once more, teeth grinding and before he'd even made a move the baton hammered into his stomach. His breath exploded out of him and he doubled over, his good arm, clutching his abdomen tightly, as if he could squeeze the pain out of it.

"I said _no_." Vercci tutted. Voldo made another clawing motion towards his captor and the baton whacked the hand out of the way. "Believe me, you will learn obedience."

Voldo inhaled sharply, bringing both of his injured limbs under his abdomen.

"At the very least, you will learn the meaning of 'no'."

Voldo's leg lashed out at an odd angle and Vercci had fallen before he even knew what had happened. He barely had time to register the sharp throb in his shin before the cannibal was on him. The breath of the beast was far to close. Vercci kicked out but his foot met empty air; the cannibal had moved the entirety of his bulk in one skittering movement. He swung out with his baton but his arm was caught in the cannibals steel grip centimeters from colliding with his prisoners face. Vercci wrenched his arm and then pain exploded in his hand. Voldo clamped his mouth down on Vercci's hand and with a snap, ripped the pointer finger off. The baton was immediately dropped as Vercci screamed, his maimed hand flexing spasmodically and thick torrents of blood gushing from the remnant of his digit.

One of his now frantic kicks caught Voldo in the side, but Voldo was in a state of utter rage and the pain went unnoticed. Again he hunched over Vercci, mouth open over the throat, the longing to taste more of the mans blood unquenchable. Voldo's tongue brushed the jugular and a heavy object collided with his skull. He rolled off of Vercci in a daze, white lights dancing mockingly before his eyes.

Vercci scrambled away from the slumped cannibal, the helmet from his toppled suit of armor clutched in a white knuckled grip. His breath was ragged and his eyes wide. The cannibal made another sluggish movement towards him and he rammed the helmet into the other mans skull again. Voldo went limp, his mouth still soused in Vercci's blood. Now that the threat of death from the cannibal had ceased, pain rapidly replaced his adrenaline. He gritted his teeth, stumbled over to his wardrobe and opened a thin drawer, removing from it a small, highly lacquered box. Fumbling slightly he withdrew a bottle of brown tinted liquid and uncorking it, he drank two deep gulps.

The laudanum would dull the pain more slowly than he hoped, but it was better than nothing. Removing the same salve he'd used on the cannibal, Vercci lathered the stump of his finger with it. Again he took out his needle and thread and using his mouth to hold the thick black string taught, he sewed the gaping hole shut. He chuckled lightly under his breath as he regarded his handiwork and wiggled the stump. His smile turned into a tight grimace of pain. He would have to refrain from moving the stump for some time. He wrapped a cloth tightly about it to soak up any seeping blood, and then turned to the cannibal.

The beast had taken his finger. His _finger_. Vercci laughed and when he spied his pointer finger still half curled on the baton near the cannibal he laughed even louder. No man had ever done such harm to him. No man had _taken _part of him. Curiously, he nudged the finger with the toe of his shoe. It rolled over from the touch and lay as still as the piece of meat it had become.

His senses clouding slowly from the laudanum, Vercci opened one of the displays near to his bookshelf. The first three shelves of the wooden case held ancient weapons that he had found particularly interesting or gruesome. The bottommost shelf held objects of restraint; thick chains, ropes, and other inhibiting straps. Vercci pulled out several lengths of chain.

Kneeling over the cannibal he took the beasts arms and tied the wrists tightly together. He grabbed the ankles and shackled them. He then stared at the pale form in a dazed manner; elated and furious all at once. The combination of laudanum and dull, throbbing pain were effective in keeping his physical desire of the beast to a minimum. Vercci began to drag the cannibal back to his cell when a thought struck him. Laughing spasmodically, he crossed back over to his display case and reaching into the bottom shelf he pulled out a bit. As though Voldo were a horse, Vercci slid the metal bit into the partially open mouth and fastened it at either end with a length of leather. The makeshift gag would effectively keep Vercci's remaining nine digits safe. Satisfied, Vercci took the cannibal by the wrists, drug him back into his cell and locked the heavy door.

Back in his bedroom, Vercci picked up his useless finger and pondered what to do with it. He could have a servant come to retrieve it, if only to see the look the underlings face. Perhaps he could feed it to the dogs. But then, why feed it to the dogs when he had a perfectly good cannibal? Laughing loudly now, the drug beginning to fully take effect, Vercci entered the dark space again and tossed the finger into the cell through the bars. He wondered if the cannibal would eat it or if the beast might actually be offended by the gesture. Either outcome amused Vercci.

He entered his bedchamber and pressed the Holy Bible down, and then lay on his bed. He was distantly aware of making barely audible sounds as his senses clouded and the pain in his hand receded. But most of all he was aware of a sense of happiness he felt had nothing to do with the laudanum. The beast had taken his finger. The thought echoed through his skull, and his sense of happiness increased. The anger, the absolute _rage_ in the cannibal's eyes…Vercci smiled as he nodded off in his drug induced stupor. Oh yes, the cannibal would be a delicious challenge.


End file.
